


Silver Filaments of Chance and Circumstance

by SinclairMaxwell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Slash, Word Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:24:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2344985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinclairMaxwell/pseuds/SinclairMaxwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Words have a magical power. They can bring either the greatest happiness or deepest despair." For a magical-less child, this truth is alive in shocking clarity. Squib Harry has been rejected by his world, his family, but is he really as magic-less as they believe or will he find a power in words that has never been known? Death is determined to show his Master his true worth and purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello! As requested, here's another Harry/Death fic! This is a Supernatural/HP crossover but it will be a few chapters before the boys come into play. If you're looking for this to be a SuperPowerful!Harry, story, then turn back. I don't write that sort of thing, sorry. It just isn't realistic, so for those of you who disliked that about His Companion Was The Grave, you'll once again be disappointed, hate to tell you. For the rest of you, enjoy!

 

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just a surly hedgehog, a coffee pot and a fidget toy named Megatron Shenanigans. Meg Shannan. Get it? XD

 

Chapter One... _ **"The most loving parents and relatives commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destrot the person we really are: a subtle kind of murder."-Jim Morrison**_

 

My earliest memory was of sitting inside the empty, unused pantry and listening to my mother cry. Back then, I didn't know what words like 'disorder', 'squib' and 'disabled' meant. They were outside of the spectrum of my understanding at that point, but it didn't take me long to realize that those words were massive, life changing utterances. They were thigns that crawled out of people's lips when they didn't think anyone was listening. Sometimes, they didn't care if others were. Even a child, barely out of it's toddling, could learn that those things meant 'different'. They meant 'disappointment'. Ugly. Those words were things to be feared. Listening to my mother sob as if her heart were breaking, the Healer patting her hand as if she could somehow cure it all with compassion, I curled up inside the little nesting spot I had made for myself and hugged my little wooden toy man to my chest. The funny smelling Healer Smethwyck had spent all morning pointing her wand at me and making my body feel tingly with magic. Tests, she had called them, though my far-too polite child mind didn't dare ask what for. Instead, I had retreated to my safe little hideaway only for the woman to bustle my mother into the disused kitchen to deliver what could only be bad news. I tried to ignore the cold feeling settling in my belly and instead pretended that I wasn't dropping eaves on my own mother.

 

"Lily...I'm so sorry." My mother sniffled and the sound of her blowing her nose resounded through the room.

 

"There isn't anything you can do? Nothing? He's our firstborn, Lydia! Surely there's some procedure..."

 

"There just isn't at this time and you know that, Lil. But...maybe it won't be so bad. They have special schools for kids like him now, you know. He can be with children on the same level as himself. It will almost be like he's normal because Harry will be around kids just like himelf. They'll even teach him a trade when he gets a little older, teach him to be of some benefit."

 

"Oh, Merlin, you know those schools are sub-par at best! But he can't go to Hogwarts...he would be a laughing stock. Harry would never be able to fit in there. And what about when he grows up? Maybe I should just...send him to my parents? Raise him away from magic, in the Muggle world where he won't be so different? What am I going to tell James? His parents? You know those people would look down on him. Purebloods, bah! The only thing pure blood is good for is a headache and a half!Poor Harry...what kind of quality of life is he going to have now?"

 

"We have support groups for kids like him now, even for parents like you. It's important that you know what to expect as well. Harry will likely be prone to outbursts and it is vital that you get him into a Vital Functioning Therapy program. It will help tamper the outbursts as well as help Harry to cope emotionally as well as with any physical side effects his condition may present. In children like him we often see an increased intelligence but an overall inability to perform. It can lead to behavioral and emotional problems which if untreated can have serious consequences as he ages."

 

"Like what? How could it get worst than this?"

 

The Healer sighed and seemed as if she were deliberating her words carefully, judging how much more my mother could handle.

 

"We have seen a marked increase in suicides in similar circumstances. Substance abuse, anger management problems, lack of successful employment...Well, you get the picture. The program is geared for preparing children for the life they now face."

 

"I see." She breathed shakily.

 

The two meandered out of the kitchen, still whispering amongst themselves and all I could do was clutch my toy tightly and pray.

 

When my father came home that night there was an argle-bargle the likes of which the Potter home has never experienced. There was crying, shouting, and then more sobbing. Angry words were launched back and forth over the barricades of my mind like projectiles. There was disbelief and then disappointed resignation. I hadn't moved from my hidey hole and so I could hear every word. Despite having no siblings, despite having no friends, I had never felt more alone than I did at that moment.

.

.

~ _ **"Words are the voice of the heart."-Confucius**_

.

.

"Now, Harry, what was your diagnosis?"

 

Sigh. As if they didn't already know. I sneered at the smiling woman in disgust. They made us all reiterate our "disabilities" every year for everyone to hear. As if we hadn't been schooling together all our lives already. Merlin, it was like some sort of sick humiliation. An annual degradation so we didn't forget our meager places in society and cause an upstart or something. I shot her a petty glare but, nonetheless, gave the woman what she desired.

 

"Bertrand's Disease. It means that my core is active but it doesn't have the ability to make any usable magic. It tries to make a feeble attempt to create magic when it can't which causes spontaneous outbursts from time to time."

 

That was what the Healers had said, at least. They were all so quick to label and judge, I thought as Suzie began giving her own response to my left, her voice dripping with misery.

 

 _Squib_. That was what they called me.

 

But I knew that couldn't be right. I _did_ have magic, I could feel it. It was there dancing beneath my skin. I could feel it bubble beneath the surface when it reacted. Sure, I couldn't use a wand, but I had something better. I had _words._ Words that could make things happen. Magic of some sort. It wasn't perfect but I was young yet. There was time.

 

"Alright, children! Let's stand and say our affirmation for today and you may go." I could see the displeasure, the resignation in the faces standing around me in my Vital Fuctions Therapy group. No one wanted to have to be here. None of us were...whole. But that wasn't right, was it? We were still people. We were different but we weren't any less worth a witch or wizard our same age. Why did our community, our families, believe that we were worth so little just because we didn't have magic like they did? Amelia Zabini met my eyes from my other side and there was such pain there that I almost couldn't bear to look. I knew what she wanted and so I slipped my hand into heres, giving her the much needed touch that she craved. We weren't friends and never would be, but we shared that sameness that our society rejected us for. That was enough to offer comfort to one another when we could. Amelia was a twin. Her brother Blaise had been born normal, perfect and magical. She had not. As one we all began speaking the pledge that we had to repeat at the end of every therapy meeting twice a week. A pledge designed to keep us lowly and down.

 

_"I am a Squib, but that is not bad. I can be good. I can be useful and beneficial to my Wizarding World. I am a Squib but I am worthy."_

 

Worthy. What a lark. Worthy enough for "my Wizarding World" to allow me to be a janitor, a cook, maybe a nanny or servant to a wealthy family, if I was lucky. Worthy enough to never be able to achieve more, to never be able to reach for higher education or make progress in life. I tasted bile on the back of my tongue as the words came out. I was only ten years old and I had already been counted out by my entire world.

.

.

~ _ **"Words are alive; cut them and they bleed."-Ralph Waldo Emerson**_

.

.

Mother and father were preparing for the big Ministry ball tonight but it wasn't happily. Even though we had all been invited, I was made to stay home with Gaimon, our elderly house elf. Tucked away where no one could see my parents' shame. It was just as well, though it left a bitter taste in my mouth. There would be a whole seperate ballroom for the progeny of the attendees but no one would speak to me. They would probably curse me for sport rather than actually give me the time of day. Rather than risk the embarassment and potential harassment, Lily and James had opted for socially pretending I didn't exist instead. I hated it and I hated them for it. What did it matter? What use did it do to scorn and show them my anger when it wouldn't make any difference? What would it change if I showed them how much their disappointment and disdain hurt? Nothing. It wouldn't change a thing. It was just one more peg, one more piece, added onto an ever growing structure built of hurt, sideways glances and the words, words, words. Words of anger, of tears. Words of if-only's and what-if's. Words that told me all of the things they wished I had been and could be. Everything they thought that I wasn't. I had been born into a world that didn't want me and so this structure had been building within my heart, gaining girth with every instance of ill treatment. I didn't know yet what it would become but soon, very soon, it would come to a head and I would see what it was that their disdain had borne inside of me.

 

I was suppose to be working on my ridiculous therapy homework. Take home worksheets that told me to accept the lot they had handed to me with a smile. Instead, I spent the evening inside the attic. Many years ago, I had found a grand, old dollhouse there. It was of victorian design and stood as tall as I did with the most exquisit rooms and life-like creations I had ever seen. It opened from the center and as soon as I had beheld it, I had begged to be able to keep the aged thing. My parents hadn't understood my fascination with the structure but I loved it. It was normal, like me. Magic-less, but still wonderous. Often, I liked to fantasize about living out my life in that house, the life that I had always dreamed I would have had if I had been born normal. Even if I had been born to Muggles. That dollhouse was more of a home to me than the entirety of Potter Manor or Godric's Hollow ever could be. It was my special place, just as the old, unused pantry had been when I was small. I would rather spend my time in an imaginary dream life than doing those ridiculous worksheets. What were they going to do if I didn't? Flunk me out of therapy? Unlikely.

 

The evening passed too quickly for my tastes. The times when my parents were absent was a bittersweet occurence. It was a pleasure to be have the run of the manor without havign to dodge their pitying and disappointed glances. They had gotten worst since the upcoming month should have been when my Hogwarts letter arrived. We all knew that it never would. So it was a keen delight to be able to avoid these speechless, somber confrontations, and yet...I knew that other families weren't like that. Other parents didn't feel about their children the way mine did about me. Other parents weren't ashamed to take their children out in public. Other families doted on their heirs. Instead, I was the dirty little secret of the Potter dynasty. I knew my father's relatives were pushing for them to have another baby. I knew that they had been trying. My mother would always come back from the apothecary flushed in delighted embarasment, bags laden with various fertility potions and vitamins. I wondered if they would send me away once the new baby came. I would doubtless be stripped of the title of heir, providing the new baby had normal magic. A "Squib" couldn't hold the Family Headship, not when there was a magical child that could. Pin pricks stung my eyes and I shoved them back furiously. I wasn't a Squib, though! The outbursts proved it, no matter what those brainless Healers said! I had magic, it was there! I just...couldn't use a wand. I had tried. Many times I had filched my parents and housekeeper's wands to try, to _prove_ that I was just as capable as they were, but every time I had gotten nothing for my efforts. The wand had laid dead in my hand just like a normal piece of wood. Just a lifeless stick.

 

It was moments like those that I started to believe the things that they said about me.

 

It was in times like that one that I wondered...what it was like to have hope.

 

Was I suppose to have hope? Maybe that was reserved for magical children too.

 

 

A/N: I know, it's a little more slow going than my last Harry/Death, but you'll see Death in the next chapter, honest! :) Review please!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello all! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I live off of good feedback, you know. So keep it up!

 

Disclaimer: Nope.

 

Chapter Two... _**“There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved: It is God's finger on man's shoulder.” Charles Morgan**_

 

“Son? Still awake at this hour?” The sound of my family returning home after the party drew my eyes away from the fruit and cream snack I had prepared for myself. Sure enough there was my mother, emerald dress flashing in the light and staggering slightly drunkenly to the lean-to against the wall. Her husband glancing up at me, his face pinched with a tight tenseness.

 

I didn't answer his question but instead, chose to observe my drooping mother calmly. It didn't take a genius to guess at what must have happened to make her over indulge in public like that.

 

“The party didn't go well, then?”

 

The tipsy Mrs. Potter eased herself down onto the sofa nearby as if there was a great weight pressing down on her. My father cleared his throat and beckoned me over to sit down with them both. I observed their countenances suspiciously. James twisting his wand almost nervously in his hands and Lily staring, as if unseeing, at the carpet, steadfastly refusing to meet anyone's gaze. Especially mine. Something was going on. Something that had nothing to do with the party and everything to do with me. Were they pregnant at last? Had they had enough of the social stigma of a Pureblood lineage sullied with a Squib? No doubt their friends and colleagues blamed my magic-less state on my Muggleborn mother. It was a heavy burden to bear, that blame, and I could see the effects of it sitting in front of me where my mother use to be. As if that disappointment and guilt had filled in a Lily-shaped golem and replaced the woman who use to hold my hand and make me smile. Was she even now struggling to deflect that blame from her own husband? Was it straining their marriage and that's why there was no new heir yet?

 

“Er, Harry...are you happy here? You know, being around all of _this_?” He asked at last, gesturing around at the clearly magical home. His meaning was pretty clear. 

 

_Are you happy being around magic that you can never have?_

 

_Are you satisfied being an outsider, the laughing stock?_

 

My suspicion deepened and a sick feeling began to creep into my stomach, fill it up like bile and poison. I was to worried about trying to keep that ill feeling contained that I didn't even answer him. He sat awkwardly for a moment, watching me. Was the struggle clear on my face? Could he see the sudden panic rising inside my eyes?  Against my wishes, he continued with his line of questioning.

  
  
"Because, you know, if... If you're not, your Grandma and Grandpa Evans have told us that they would love to have you come stay with them." So that's their game. They were sending me away at last. Perhaps I had always secretly hoped that things would change, that they would overcome this ridiculousness and see that I was worth something. That was the only explanation I had for the sharp anguish that burst inside of my chest, for the overwhelming disappointment that consumed me. It was the only explanation I had for the reaction that I had then.

  
  
I choked out a laugh, pushing my late night treat away and running a hand through my hair, "Party go that badly, huh? What, were Grandmother and Grandfather Potter there? Did they ask if you'd gotten rid of me yet? Did they mock you for your Squib son, tell mum it was all her fault? Did people laugh at you because of me?"

  
  
James started to speak, standing and radiating himself up with an authoritarian air, "Now, listen here, Harry-"

  
  
"No, you listen! I am not as worthless as you think I am! I'm not! I may not be able to use a wand or go to Hogwarts but I'm not some broken thing that you can throw away whenever you want! I'm not something to hide away out of public view and be embarrassed and ashamed of! I am a person, just as good as you or anyone else!” I wasn't sure when I had ended up on my feet but, dimly, I noted that my mother had sat up and taken notice of the confrontation stirring in the air. Her eyes were locked onto me, a frown settling on her brow as if she were seeing something she had never before beheld. Was the temperature in the room dropping a little or was it the abject fear of being cast aside taking hold of me? 

 

“That is not what we think!” James shouted back but even to his own ears, it sounded unconvincing, “You are not useless! You're just-! Just-!” He couldn't even think of something diplomatic to say. Nothing that would erase the years of hurts brimming inside of me. How could they convince me of such a thing when he didn't believe it himself?

 

Any illusions I had previously held were fading away, vanishing in he wake of terrible truths. That thing coming to life inside of me was beginning to take shape, the shape and outline of something terrible and magnificent. There was a rage exploding inside of me, my hands trembling with it. How dare they see me as less! How dare they put this on me!

 

“This is all your fault anyway! _You_ are the reason I'm like this! It isn't my fault! I didn't choose to be this way!” I felt a pressure pushing upwards, against the underside of my skin, building and building, nearly unbearable with its intensity, “I _hate_ you! You made me this way and I wish you would die! Just _DIE,_ father!”

 

The pressure beneath my skin, rushing through my body, exploded. I could practically see the tendrils of magic, precious magic, shoot from my body and slam violently into my parent's chest. James rocked with the unseen blow. A heavy frown coated his face like a film until...

 

He coughed,  _ hard _ , and blood and thicker things spewed forth in a wave. 

 

Lily shrieked as her husband folded like a lawn chair, crumbling to the ground.

 

I was bolting up the stairs and away from them as fast as my small, thin legs could carry me.

 

_What had I done?_

 

And it had been me. I had used the Words, that strange foreign magic that I possessed. I couldn't use a wand, but I had the Words. They responded to me just as a wand channeled power from a person's magical core and I had used it to kill my own father. Sure, he may have been a bad father but he still cared about me on some level. Nausea crept up my throat the moment that I slammed the door to the attic shut. My dollhouse shook with the force of it. I heaved up sick in the corner. Horror was racing through my body faster than my own blood could. How could I have done such a thing?! How could I have lost it so completely? 

 

“No, no, no...No, how-! How could I have-!”

 

I'd killed him! Surely, the Words had never failed before! Saying 'stop' would always halt a fall down the stairs. Saying 'burn' had lit a candle when I had been afraid of the dark. My mother's cries from below had faded. No doubt she had rushed her husband to St. Mungo's. They would probably blame it on poison from the party or some disease. Anything to believe their Squib son had murdered the Head of the Family. I practically dove for my little piece of heaven, the tiny house that seemed the attic's center piece, looking for any semblance of comfort. Any at all. What I found when I opened the small home wasn't answers or peace. There, tucked away in what I had always seen as my imaginary bedroom, was a shimmering, shiny cloth and more questions. Lying there so innocuously, so unassumingly, was my father's Invisibility Cloak. How had it gotten there, though? The last time I had seen it, it had been tucked away safely in my father's room on the second floor. My hand slipped inside, slowly pulling the fabric out, trying to ignore the fearful grief boiling in my chest. It wasn't to be, though. As soon as the cloak was free, all I could think of was the man I had just killed. The anguish at last won it's battle and I burst into tears.

 

I was a murderer! A monster! I was no better than the Dark Lord! What had I done?! A moan crawled out of my mouth, despair the only thing permeating my mind.

 

“Now, now, Master, don't cry.”

 

My entire body practically convulsed in shock. I spun around so quickly that the entire dollhouse began to rock precariously on it's stand and a pale, thin hand shot out to steady it. A hand that I didn't recognize and yet...My wide, red-rimmed eyes traced the arm up to it's owner, only to find an older man standing usually close behind me.

 

He wore a suit of sable, a cane in his other hand and he leveled me with such an intense gaze that the very breath caught in my throat. It was the sort of look that I had seen given to others but never to me. Never to me...Black orbs looked at me with tenderness and amused affection. This stranger was looking at me as if I were the most precious thing he had ever seen. The moment that I took him in, I realized where the sense of familiarity that had been pervading my consciousness was coming from. This man had the same feeling to him as the cloak still clutched in my hand. The same coolness that I had felt permeate the living room just before murdering my own father. The hand that had saved my beloved house found it's way to the top of my head, smoothing down my errant hair almost lovingly. That couldn't be, though. Not even my own kin treated me so softly. Why on earth would a stranger? A tender thumb wiped away a lingering tear on my cheek.

 

“Who...who are you?”

 

The thin man's mouth twisted into an amused grin.

 

“Who indeed. I am your eternal servant, your forever companion. I am Death, and you are my Master.”

 

His Master? Death? For some reason the storybook I use to read before bed came to the forefront of my mind.

 

“Death? And I'm your Master? How can that be when we've never met before?” Even through my despair and confusion, the disbelief was layered in my tone. He didn't seem offended though, rather like I had said something humorous instead.

 

“You are my Master because I have chosen you, Harry. Your soul and mine have been connected since before man could even conceptualize time. I exist for you and you for me. It is the reason I saved your human father just now. James Potter will not be reaped tonight, you have my word.” He purred silkily, kneeling down before me so that our eyes could meet on more equal footing.

 

My breath caught in my throat. My heart sped. Suddenly, it was as if I could taste the truth of him. Saved my father?

 

“I didn't kill him? He isn't dead?” The words came out in a relieved choke. My knees went weak with the alleviation I felt.

 

The man who called himself Death hummed in response.

 

“Oh, no. You did. I simply...did not allow him to pass. You see, if a Reaper does not carry off a person's soul, the person does not die. The Reapers belong to me, and through me, to you. So I marked James Potter as off limits for the moment, gave him the chance to be saved. You have the power to kill with a word, Harry. But we are one, and through me, you have the power over Death as well.”

 

He wasn't dead. My father had been saved and all because of this person in front of me. This man who claimed so many fantastic things. Was I imagining him? Surely, something so wonderful couldn't really be for me. This had to be just a dream, a fantasy that I was to wake from at any moment.

 

“But why? Why help me? Why save him because of me?”

 

Death's smile was broad and true. Just the sight of it eased my heart, despite this unusual stranger and his wonderful, amazing claims.

 

“Because I love you, Harry.”

 

That night, I left the Wizarding World for good. My father lived, but they would never seen me again in their lifetime.

 

 

A/N: I'll be honest. Not a fan of this chapter. I had a hard time writing today. Next chapter will be better, honest.

 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Wow! You guys are fantastic! I didn't post this story until three am last night and I looked in my email and before even noon, I had sixteen reviews! :O You guys certainly know how to make a girl feel special!

 

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter.

 

Chapter Three... _**“Truthful words are not beautiful; Beautiful words are not truthful. Good words are not persuasive; Persuasive words are not good.”**_ _ **Lao Tzu**_

 

“Why can't we save him? He's just a little baby...”

 

Staring down at the tiny infant struggling to breathe, my heart broke in twain. It wasn't fair. This child hadn't even begun to live. He was so small...It was hard to imagine that I had been so diminutive once. The baby hadn't even been given a name yet but here he was, dying in a glass case while doctors scrambled about trying to save his life. His parents stood nearby, kneeling on the floor and praying together. The mother's hands were clutched together so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. I could see the trembling throughout her entire body even from here. She shouldn't have even been out of bed. Her nurse hovered worriedly nearby, torn between pulling her patient, fresh from giving birth, back to bed, and allowing her the chance to see her dying baby in his final moments. Death stood at my side, his face impassive and the hand not holding his cane wrapped lovingly in mine. My birthday was coming up. My first birthday since I had left my world behind. If I were still at home, it would be a time of sharp grief, waiting on a letter that everyone knew would never come. Instead, Death planned to take me anywhere I desired. It had been something that I had been brimming with excitement about for days and yet, standing here watching such naked grief, the joy that I had felt only hours ago seemed to have evaporated. His hand squeezed my own comfortingly and I found him, not observing the heartbreaking scene before us but watching me intensely instead. There was something there in his eyes. An expectation of some kind that I couldn't identify. Was this whole situation a test of sorts?

 

“You are kind, Harry. Far kinder than most. It is why I love you so much.” I fought the fierce blush that crept up my ten year old face. Death made no qualms about making sure I knew that he loved me and that one day we would be a couple. I really didn't have much of a concept of what that meant but for now, Death's main focus was getting me accustomed to his constant affection. It was something that I was still rather uncomfortable with. I wasn't use to people telling me they loved me all the time, “The Balance, however, must be maintained. That doesn't mean that you cannot be kind to those who pass on, but we cannot give out free passes as we please.”

 

A sharp bolt of frustration shot through me like electricity and I knew that he could feel it through our infantile, tenuous connection that was slowly developing between our minds.

 

“But why not this once? Why can't we just let this one baby go? What _is_ the Balance, anyways?”

 

My companion didn't appear put off by my frustration. Death only smiled as if he had expected it all along. His hand left mine in order to trace its way through my hair and tug me against his side. Despite knowing that I was likely about to hear something I wasn't going to like, the tightness that had lodged itself in my chest evaporated with the close contact and left me in a shuddering exhale. How had I come to depend on a stranger in such a short time? Depend on him more than I have ever trusted my own family? There had always been mistrust between my parents and I but with Death...somehow, I just knew that he could be counted on. He said that it was because a part of me recognized that we were one spirit, tied and cradled together since time primordial. I wasn't sure about that yet, it seemed far too strange a concept for my young mind to grasp, but I accepted the facts that I knew as they were.

 

“Everything on earth, from people to microorganisms depend on the Balance, Harry. Allow me to give an example. Salmon populations explode, offering more food for the people dependent on that fish. The salmon numbers are due to an explosion in the plankton available in the ocean where the salmon migrate once they are born. That plankton bloom is caused by an influx of iron rich sea water moving into the area caused by a multitude of volcanic eruptions two years previous. Those same eruptions killed many people and animals, destroyed homes and lives, but gave way for a rejuvenation of the earth all around it which would later allow for farm lands and forests to be regrown stronger and better than before. This is the Balance. Death, we, are a part of that Balance. In this circumstance, it is similar to your own. This child will die and will be Reaped. His soul will go to Heaven, but because he has not yet reached their biblical age of accountability, or the age where humans are able to distinguish right from wrong and sin from righteousness, his soul will be reborn. This infant will die but in his place, another will be born. If he does not die and we were to save him, another human being would have to die in his place. Are you willing to decide who should die instead?” Part of me cringed away from such a decision. Even the worst people had the right to live, right? When people started weighing the worth of people's lives, they became manipulators like Albus Dumbledore. Men who used others, sacrificed people like I had heard my parents whispering about late at night, “Each human is alotted their fair share of time and once they die, they go on to their just rewards. Many go to Heaven where they are reunited with lost loved ones, people they thought they would never see again. They simply exchange one brief life for an eternal one. It is a fair pay-off, I believe.”

 

It did actually sound better. More importantly, it sounded _fair._ In my child's mind, fair was the most important thing of all. The Balance, and Death by proxy, agreed with my sentiments entirely. That was the first time that I would Reap a soul all on my own, cradling that tiny, warm light against me tenderly. Maybe when I was grown up, I would like to have a tiny little person to love of my own. Maybe.

.

.

_~_ _**“** _ _**A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.” Ingrid Bergman.** _

_._

_._

“Harry! Harry, put them on!” Tessa shouted, exasperation and exhaustion coming out of her in pants as she bolted over the back of the nearby couch, hot on my tail.

 

“No! I'm won't do it! It's weird!” I tossed back at her stubbornly, slipping beneath the Invisibility Cloak just in time to watch the Reaper skid by, a pair of fancy leather trainers in hand.

 

A smirk spread over my face as she passed my hiding place unwittingly. Hidden from death, indeed, I thought with a snicker. I tugged the cloth off of me just in time for her to round the corner once again, face red and furious.

 

“ _Harry!_ ”

 

The chase was on again. This time, I took a flying leap from the stairwell banister, bounding down to the lower level with a crow of delight. My feet landed lightly but just in time for the front door to open up and a pair of familiar arms to catch me up in a warm, laughing embrace. Tessa came bounding after me, skidding to a horrified stop when she saw who held me. Her hair was a disheveled mess, her face red and surprised. The designer shoes were practically clutched to her chest in humiliation at her boss seeing her in such a state.

 

“S-sir...” She stammered, mortification clear on her pale visage.

 

Death tsk'ed and shook his head with a chuckle. His arms tightened around me lovingly and I couldn't stop a grin from coating my own face, wrapping my arms around his waist happily. A few years ago, I would never have gotten so close to someone like this. Now, Death had shown me the life that I should have always known. He had given me love.

 

“Still refusing to wear your shoes, Harry?”

 

I gave him a rather spectacular pout, any displeasure I was feeling vanishing at the feel of my braid being run through his hand. It felt as if he were admiring every strand, every piece and inch of me.

 

“It's weird. I'm wearing a dead animal. It's no better than wearing clothes made of human flesh, in my opinion. Dead is dead and a carcass is a carcass.” My voice was sullen and grumpy and my eternal companion hummed, though whether he really empathized with me or was simply humoring me, I couldn't say.

 

His hand held up a bag that he offered me with a stoic, humorously serious expression on his face.

 

“Then it is fortuitous for you and for our poor dear Tessa here, that I brought you these. Completely carcass-free shoes, gloves and belts. Now we may take you out in public without making any scenes, yes?”

 

Sheer delight passed over not only my face but Tessa immediately looked so relieved that she could have crumbled. Inside, my heart was soaring. Something so simple and yet, Death and brought it for me, had thought of me enough to maybe not completely understand but respect my beliefs and feelings. I hugged him tightly, heart light and joyful with the primordial being at my side, and delighted in it when he spun me around in a silly sort of dance that had even the strung out Tessa laughing.

 

Death brought me more bliss than my life had ever known.

 

 

A/N: A little shorter than usual but I had to call it quits here tonight. More soon though, promise! :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Okay, so I'm aiming for this chapter to be longer than the last so hopefully it turns out that way. XD Last night, I was too stir crazy about getting to see the Blood Moon eclipse but the rain never did move out so I couldn't see it anyways. >___< Anywho, onward!

 

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except an overwhelming sense of delusion.

 

Chapter Four... _ **“**_ _ **We do not need magic to transform our world. We carry all of the power we need inside ourselves already.”**_ _ **J.K. Rowling**_

 

Hands slid down my arms from behind, tracing the bend at my elbow. I took a deep steadying breath. I was getting older now and Death and I's relationship was getting a little more physical. Nothing indecent but more lingering gazes, more dwelling touches and embraces. At sixteen it was...distracting, and could sometimes be embarrassing when the overzealous Reaper or two burst into the room only to find me splayed out, dozing on their Boss's chest. Distraction was what Death was aiming for now. Such was today's magic lesson.

 

“Focus, Master. _Breathe_.” I shivered as he leaned over me, his own breath tickling my neck. I could practically feel his smug smirk, the ponce.

 

It was difficult to shake off my awareness of him. When our connection hummed and purred, stretched between us, it was hard to not be hyper-aware of his presence. Somehow I managed it, bringing my attention back to the situation at hand. Back to the task before me.

 

A soul hovered before me, suspended in the air and struggling against Death's metaphysical grip on it. My own power was already dancing a tango beneath my skin, aching to be used. Naturally, I hated to disappoint. I let out a slow, controlled breath, my eyes falling to half-mast in concentration.

 

“ _Shield. Encase. Protect. Hold."_

 

My magic leapt at the direction, almost joyfully accepting the order. It needed no coaxing or teasing to act. It shot out towards the shrieking soul like an invisible bullet. It couldn't be seen by other people but felt. A glowing sphere shot up to surround the radiant mass, detaining and restricting it from fleeing or moving on. A force field. A shield. Excitement bubbled up within me and I barked out a joyous laugh, all tension flowing away in an instant. I had done it! I had made a shield! The memory of my parents being able to do the same had me feeling both elated and smug. They had thought I would never be able to do the things they could do. Now, I would not only prove them wrong but I would do more than they could ever hope to with their restrictive Latin spells and wand waving. If I could speak it, I could create it. If there were words for me to imagine it into being, I could accomplish it. This is what Death had spent the last six teaching me to do. Little by little, he had watched me grow and achieve. Without him, I would have never been anything more than that bitter, hurt child, unwanted by my world. Death had freed me. I spun around and latched my arms around him happily, delighting when he spun me around.

 

I didn't think it was possible to love anyone or anything the way I loved him.

.

.

_~_ _**“** _ _**There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a little boy who was staring in at the window. He had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be for ever barred.”** _ _**J.M. Barrie** _ _**,** _ [ _**Peter Pan** _ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1358908)

_._

_._

Death was back from his latest Reaping venture and I had begged him to take me on a picnic. The weather was beautiful in Segovia, Spain today and it was a tragedy to stay indoors. He had relented with that knowing smile he always seemed to have when I made a request of him. Truly, it was just as wondrous a day as I had anticipated. Once our feast of finger sandwiches ad fruits had been finished, the day found Death pushing me lightly on the swings. I loved that he never thought twice about indulging me in my childish past times and delights. He was my best friend, my companion, my beloved and my parent all wrapped up into one dark, indescribable package. I wasn't enjoying the warmth or the sunshine or even Death's occasional touch on my back. My eyes were fixated on a happy family in the creek nearby.

 

The father was blonde, a brilliant grin painted over his face as he stood, pant legs pulled up to his knees, in the water to play with his son. The mother was pretending to be angry after she had slipped and ended up bottom first in the stream. Even from my distance, her smile was there for all of the world to see. Their son's matching brunette hair flashed in the sunlight as he threw his head back in an open mouthed, deep-throated laugh. They looked so happy together.

 

Death evidently sensed my sudden melancholy because the swing slowed and stilled. The day didn't seen quite so wonderful anymore.

 

“Do you think, if my parents knew that I had magic, things would have turned out differently? If I had been born a normal wizard?” I had to congratulate myself on keeping my voice steady and unaffected.

 

Even after six years, I still carried the troubles of my meager childhood around like a bad carpetbag or dark circles beneath my eyes. Sometimes, I still awoke in the middle of the night from dreams of my time with Death being just a lonely little boy's illusion. That I would be back in the Potter home attic with nothing to comfort me but an old dollhouse and a faded and worn hope. Death would always be there when I woke to dry my tears, cup of something hot and sweet in hand to soothe me. Somehow, even after all of this time, I was still that scared boy inside, wanting nothing more than love and affection. The only difference was that now, I actually had someone to give it to me.

 

“Yes, it would have been quite different.”

 

Now, that caught my attention.

 

“You know this?”

 

He gave me a bland glance before his gaze returned to the family wading in the shallows.

 

“I have seen it.” A look from me pressed him for more information, “If you had been born a wizard, Lily and James Potter would have met their Reapers fifteen years ago. You would have been sent to aunt's home to live a life of abuse and neglect. The Dark Lord of that realm, Thomas Riddle, would have hunted you all your life until you eventually sacrificed yourself to end his reign of terror.” Minister of Magic, Tom Riddle? Huh. Politicians. Go figure. “Either way you would have ended up right where you are: with me. I decided that this was the preferred path and took it upon myself.”

 

Abuse? Hunted? It seemed that I owed Death more than I had ever known. My love for him grew two sizes that day. I hummed and leaned back into him gratefully. His kind hand stroked my head calmly sending my melancholy leeching into the ground like rainwater.

 

“Do you wish to go see them?”

 

My parents? Hmmmm.

 

“No.”

 

“Good. You know how I detest having to deny you anything, Master.”

 

It wasn't necessary to go back and see the Potters. It would change nothing at all. I knew that my parents had loved me as much as they could given the circumstances. Otherwise, they would have passed me off to family or strangers when I was baby. Their worlds had been blown apart when they had discovered That I was unable to use magic. James, from a very prominent pedigreed Pureblood family, to have a Squib for an heir? Head of the Family or not, he had been looked down on and talked about in hushed disdainful whispers. Lily hadn't gotten the respect of whispers; they had practically shouted that it was all the Muggleborn's fault. That it had been her blood that had ruined everything. Every time they looked at me, all they could see were their own failures. Failure to resist, to love me more, to do better by me, to defend their hurting child. Every time they saw me. all they could imagine was the life that they had denied me, the lot of a second-class citizen that they had chained their son to. My leaving was probably the best thing that could have happened to them. Going with Death had been the kindest thing for us all.

 

“Tell me again? Tell me how I'm your Master.” My tone had gone from saddened to tender and peaceful. It wasn't an unusual request. I loved to hear it and Death loved to tell it.

 

The change had my beloved's lips lifting in that coy smile once again. He spun the swing around so I could face him as he told me time after time, that single, unassailable truth.

 

“You are my Master, Harry Potter, because I love you. I love you more than all of the stars in the skies, more than all of the worlds within my sphere. More than balances and more than my existence. You are my Master because love, in itself, is a terrible, wonderful bondage. I am yours but so too do you belong to me because you love me too.” He had leaned forward so that our noses touched playfully, my breath fanning out against his mouth mere centimeters away. My heart clenched and butterflies broke free of their cocoons to flutter hysterically about in my belly.

 

“I do love you.”

 

“You are mine and I am yours, Master. My own. We are two parts of the same whole. One made separate. Just as God created Eve as a companion for Adam, so too were you made in my image. Created from a part of me, for me. No other creature can, had or ever will claim such sway over me. Only you. That is why you are my Master.”

 

Those were perhaps the most beautiful words I had ever heard. My heart was uplifted, soaring, and when Death leaned down and closed the distance between us, all I could think was that this was what perfection really was. If I ever died and went to Heaven, it would be an instant replay of this moment, this feeling, for all eternity. Our first kiss was shared, brought to life, on a sunny day in June in a little town in Spain. I couldn't have imagined it any better than the reality turned out. This was what beauty was.

 

This was real love.

 

A/N: Ahhhh! Don't shoot! So it isn't longer, but it's cuter! >_____> Eh. Sorry, ladies and gents. I'll do better next time. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So I know this story is going kind of slow but it is on purpose, I assure you. I wanted this story to focus more on Death and Harry's relationship than His Companion Was The Grave did which was a little more plot heavy but kind of skimped on actually seeing them as a couple. I haven't decided where exactly in the Supernatural series I'm going to introduce Harry to the boys but I am completely open for suggestions of what YOU as the reader would like to see. :)

 

So flip me some suggestions, ladies and gents. Ta!

 

Disclaimer: Nope.

 

Chapter Five... _ **“**_ _ **Death is but the next great adventure”**_ _ **―**_ _ **J.M Barrie,**_ _ **Peter Pan**_

 

Death was doing a brilliant job steadfastly ignoring the furious glare that I was leveling him with, choosing instead to feign interest in the newspaper he was reading. Meanwhile, my irritation was spiking. I knew he could feel it through our connection. We always kept the mental pathway wide open. We could always feel one another.

 

“Glaring at me is not going to change my mind, Harry.” His voice was dry and short, the same voice he used when he would grouse about “those wretched angels”.

 

“I want to go. When am I going to get another chance like this one, huh?”

 

“It is my experience that wars happen rather frequently, actually. Give it six months and the humans will be clambering over one another to kill each other. If the angels have it their way, there will be a veritable murder fiesta soon, anyways.”

 

I threw my hands up in the air in frustration, eliciting a wry smirk from him at my theatrics. Ugh! He just wouldn't give it up! This was a golden opportunity! I had been with Death for seven years and he had yet to let me undertake any serious Reapings. All I wanted to do was lead the team of Reapers to the English battlefield to collect the souls. The reason he was so reticent about my request was singularly undeniable: it was a British Wizarding battlefield. It would be the first time I would have ventured anywhere near the Wizarding World since I had left it. James and Lily Potter were Aurors so it wasn't out of the realm of likelihood that they would be there. I couldn't care a wit about them though. My reasons for wanting to go were far more simple. I was suppose to be his partner, his companion and helpmate. How could I do that if I couldn't even take on the bigger jobs? What use was I if he couldn't even trust me to do that? Death had given me so much. All I wanted to do was give a little back.

 

I plucked the paper from his fingers deftly and tossed it away, sliding into the Horseman's lap. He released a long suffering sigh but it didn't stop his hands from winding their way around my waist nonetheless. I dug my hands into his hair, slowly massaging his scalp. Death always loved it when I did that. Nothing could reduce him to a humming, pleased mass faster.

 

“I don't care about it being a Wizarding battle. I don't care about the Potters, I don't. I just want...I want to help you, to be be useful. We're partners, aren't we? How can I be your Master if I can't even help you with your work? I want to be your partner, your equal to be depended on, not your child to be closeted and cared after all the time.” My steady words earned me a snort of amusement.

 

“I certainly don't think of you as my child, _Master_.” A hand slipped up the back of my shirt possessively, tickling the skin it found there slowly. Now, how was I suppose to focus on my argument with his skin against mine? My forehead leaned against his and my emerald green orbs stared stoically into the opposing black.

 

“Then don't treat me like one. Please let me do this for you.”

 

I could feel the moment that his resolve broke and smiled, basking in the knowledge that I was the only being who manage to do so. To everyone else, Death was both the unstoppable force and the immovable object. He was unshakable, unbreakable and ultimate. But not to me. To me, he was tender and soft. To me he was...mine. It was a double edged sword but I loved every moment of this vulnerability. If he was my greatest weakness, then I would be willing to fall time and time again.

 

“Very well...but only if you take extra Reapers for backup. And I want you back here within the hour after the last shot has been fired. Not a second more.”

 

I laughed at his protectiveness over me, his secret mother-henning. As if he wasn't going to be watching the battle anyways just to make sure. He was worst than a mother dog with her newborn pups. His reward for his eventual cooperation was a heated, joyful kiss. It was nothing like the first kiss we shared last year. That one was sweet and perfection incarnate. This was wild and buzzing with the promise of magic practically sparking between our tongues. It made my blood and mind race until I was laughing against my beloved's lips, relishing in the feel of it all.

 

“I want you tonight. Right now. I want to complete our bond.” Complete the circle between us. Him. Me. _Us_. A beautiful melding and merging of separated souls to be separated no more. I was finally ready for him.

 

Dark eyes flashed, full of wanting and desire but a heavy, indescribable love. The kind of love that would outlast worlds.

 

“You are sure, Harry?”

 

A pout, “I am of age now. I'm ready for you. I want to be yours in truth.”

 

A shudder raced through his body and to my delight I could feel it ripple through his chest beneath my hand. What a marvelous thing. Death's smirk widened and he huffed against my mouth, arms tightening around my frame as he lifted me bodily from my perch.

 

“Mine own you will be, Master.”

.

.

_~ **“** **When she expressed a doubtful hope that Tinker Bell would be glad to see her, he said, ‘Who is Tinker Bell?’.** **‘** **O Peter,’ she said, shocked; but even when she explained he could not remember.** **‘** **There are such a lot of them,’ he said. ‘I expect she is no more.’** **~**_

_._

_._

The battlefield was calm and quiet all around me, save for the reserved sobs of those gathering the dead and, unseen by normal humans, the contingent of ever solemn Reapers gathering up the souls of the departed into suitcases and stout, professional looking bags. The ground was littered with the fallen. Men, women. Adults, _children_. For that's what they were. Boys and girls no older than I. It was one of these that I knelt down beside, observing her still, peaceful face. She was so _young_ , not even out of her teens. Fire colored red hair spread around her limp body like a halo, her freckled face pale in demise. It was sad, really. I thought perhaps she could have been a Weasley, if my memory served, but it had been so long, I didn't dare assume. Her soul trembled, cradled in my hands. I could feel it when Death appeared at my side from nowhere, from out of the darkness that gathered between places and his gaze followed mine.

 

“Ginevra Weasley, aged sixteen years old. Right on schedule.” I hummed at his report, tilting my head down at the prone figure laid out in repose before me, “Harry?”

 

“We're the same age, she and I. Perhaps we could have even been friends in another life.”

 

My observation received no response. That was okay. It didn't really matter. His hand slid to my shoulder and I tilted my head to the side to rub my cheek on it lovingly. The touch only reminded me of the ache in my body from our joining last night. A shiver ran down my spine. It had been _glorious_. A shout echoed across the field and suddenly a sickeningly familiar head of red curls was racing towards me.

 

“Molly! Molly, she's here!” Lily Potter shouted, crumbling to the ground beside Ginevra Weasley's cooling corpse.

 

My mother knelt inches from me and yet Death and I went unseen. I could have revealed myself. I had the power, the ability. But I didn't. The dead girl's mother rushed over with an unholy cry, the cry of a parent who had held out on a fragile hope only to have it dashed. It was the tears of a parent who would have the heavy task of burying their child. The soul in my hands pulsed at the proximity and I touched it comfortingly, easing her pain. I hugged the spirit to me as if I could somehow make everything alright. It was a childish desire, I suppose. It was the magic of childhood, those fantastic rules that said that rainbows were miracles and that hugs from someone who loved you could heal any hurt. I could almost feel the girl sobbing against my chest as she watched her mother retrieve her body and mourn. Had my mother mourned for me? Looking into her face, seeing the premature grey hairs cropping up hither dither, the lines in her face and the sorrowful camaraderie in her faded green eyes as she comforted her friend, I knew that she had. She had cried for me too, and somehow that knowledge eased the knot of tension I had carried inside of my chest for all of these years. Knowing that Lily had sobbed for me too, had hurt and regretted for me, allowed me to do something that I had never realized I hadn't ever achieved.

 

It allowed me to finally, _finally_ , let go.

 

To let go of my old life, the old hurts. To release my claim on them and on who I once had been. I had been mourned but I had never had the chance to mourn for myself. A singular fact allowed me to stand up with a sad smile. They had loved me enough to mourn me, to let my disappearance put those lines on her face. Perhaps that was all I ever wanted was to know that. I kissed Death's hand where it remained steadfastly on my shoulder and gave him the full measure of the feelings that I was experiencing in an unwavering gaze.

 

“Let's go home, Death.”

 

“Yes, Master.”

.

.

_~_ _**“** _ _**When the dead are done with the living, the living can go on to other things," Franny said. "What about the dead?" I asked. "Where do we go?”** _ _**―** _ [ _**Alice Sebold** _ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/316.Alice_Sebold) _**,** _ [ _**The Lovely Bones** _ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1145090)

_._

_._

A/N: Another shorter one but man, this chapter was just sad to write. The kind of sadness that is both beautiful and joyous all at once. I love it. :)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I just want to dedicate this chapter to The World in Black and White for the amazing reviews! :) I hope you enjoy this one just as much!

 

Disclaimer: I own nothing at all except the unusual ability to make fanfiction out of, literally, anything.

 

Chapter Six... _ **“**_ _ **Murder had a blood red door on the other side of which was everything unimaginable to everyone.”**_ _ **―**_[ _ **Alice Sebold**_](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/316.Alice_Sebold) _ **,**_ _ **The Lovely Bones**_

 

I never thought there would be anyone that my love detested more than angels. As I stood unseen in a tremulous, turbulent hospital, I began to wonder about that sentiment. The air was filled with the hushed whispers of those waiting to hear the verdicts on life and death, beeps and pulses of machines and the shouts and demands of the staff rushing about like some harried autumn wind. Tessa had left my side to attend to some trouble-making, comatose Hunter and I had been left staring at the pale visage of John Winchester. The man was...troubled. He and his youngest son, Samuel, if memory served me, sat together in another room, their own injuries far less painful that the awkward silence stretching on between them. The Winchesters had more family issues than I ever did and, as I had learned very young in life, nothing vexes a person quite like family could.

 

This was turning out to be a very interesting case. Even as I watched over the duo, their case file was open in my hand. Everything that could even possibly be relevant to the Reaping of the Winchester brood from Samuel's demonic influence to what sort of weapons each man favored. The destruction of Mary Winchester's soul had been a sad day indeed. She should have been in Heaven long ago but there is only one fate for those who refuse their Reapers and it only ends in eventual, complete destruction, whether at the hands of a Hunter or their own degeneration. I had long desired to form a special team of Reapers who's sole focus was collecting souls who had been trapped or stuck on earth. Between the Angels and Demons floating around on the surface, it was a situation happening more and more often and that simply would not do. The elder Winchester was getting up to leave the room suddenly but I was prevented from following the injured Hunter by the arrival of his disembodied progeny, Tessa at his side. I didn't even try to pretend to not be able to see them. It looked too strange for a total stranger to be standing in his family's hospital room, just watching, without the other Winchesters acknowledging my presence.

 

Dean practically jumped on my presence the moment he caught me silently watching their approach.

 

“Hey, kid! You dead, dying or none of the above?” The brusk man called out to me.

 

It wasn't hard to imagine why Death would dislike the merry band of men, Dean in particular. I gave Tessa a hard look and she put her hands up in supplication.

 

“Dean Winchester. You simply can't make anything simple, can you? Tessa, you know _he_ won't like this.” Sigh. More paperwork to be filed, no doubt. Oh well. At least I had the power of delegation. I snapped the folder in my hand closed, ignoring the glowering that the ghostly man was now giving me.

 

“More Reapers? How many of you soul-suckers are hovering around this place, anyways?”

 

I gave him an eye roll.

 

“Calm your man-boobs, Dean.” The Hunter gave me a blinking, almost hurt look as he crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously, “I'm not here for you, anyways.”

 

His scowl deepened, if at all possible. The play of expressions over his scruffy, abused face could only be amusing to me. It seemed improper to grin though, given I was here to Reap the man who had raised him.

 

“Which poor sap are you going to steal a soul from today then, you ectoplasm sucking, undead pretty boy?”

 

Wow. Now that was a mouthful. Really, usually it was all blubbering and nonsense. 'I'll do anything' this and 'I don't deserve to die this way' that. I didn't normally have the dead and dying _sass_ me. How interesting.

 

“Your father, actually.”

 

Speaking of. An almost greasy, oily aura was echoing from the basement now, a stain that befouled the very air of the vicinity. I sighed, ignoring Dean's sputtering and shouts for me to pay attention and not kill his dad. Really, now. It wasn't as if I was the one killing him. I was just the ferryman in this situation, more like UPS than Jefferey Dahmer. John Winchester would be killed by a Demon today, not a Reaper. I was just here to see that his soul got properly to Hell where it was meant to be. My thoughts were broken by a very foolish Winchester who _clearly_ held an unhealthy death wish seizing the front of my collar and lifting me up by my front. Dean's face was contorted in anger but also in a fear so deep it was like a spring welling up from the earth. A fear I was not altogether unfamiliar with. It was the fear of loss, the same fear that I felt every time I woke up from a nightmare of being back in that cupboard under the stairs, tears streaming down my face unchecked and uncontrollable. But I wasn't at the Potter's, I never would be again, and Dean Winchester was not me. I was the Master of Death and he was getting on my nerves.

 

“Master!” Tessa cried in horrified surprise, rushing over as if to free me. A muted look halted her progress and she settled back into the background to watch, suitably chastised. I could handle a bumbling Hunter on my own, thanks, though to be fair, I deplored pulling rank on Tessa. She had practically raised me and no doubt, I'd feel guilty and take her out to dinner later to apologize.

 

“Wait. _Master_?” My assailant's confusion brought me back to the hear and now.

 

I gave Dean a poisonous glare and gripped both of the hands seizing me in a tight grip.

 

“I would release me now if I were you, Dean Winchester. You are nothing more than a wandering spirit in this place until I see fit to slam your ungrateful arse back in that broken shell of a body. _You are under my jurisdiction now_.” I hissed, my voice edged with parseltongue like acid.

 

My magic over death, instilled in me over the years by my beloved, flexed and I pulled it back in, reeling it like a lure and dragging with it that soul strength that gave a ghost their human appearance and form. Before his very eyes, the hands that held me captive began to shrivel and decay, warping and desiccating. With a cry of horror, the brute released me, his limbs returning to their unblemished state once the contact had ended. This time, when Tessa rushed to my side, I allowed it, trying not to smile too much when her hands fluttered over my small figure checking for hurts. She fixed my rumpled tie affectionately and touched my cheek with just the barest of caresses. The moment was over quickly but there was a strange war occurring in the Hunter's eyes: mistrust, fury, confusion at the sight of our interaction and again, that same fear lingering like shadows in the dark.

 

“Now, if you would excuse me, _Winchester_ , I have a soul to Reap.” Before his eyes, I disappeared.

 

All we had to do was wait.

 

Even now I could feel the taint of a deal spreading through John Winchester's soul. Today, I would be transporting him to Hell. Invisible, I watched Tessa and Dean settle onto an empty hospital bed, watched her console him as much as she was able. It wouldn't matter. After the deed was done, his memory would be wiped of the encounter. That was just business.

 

I was on alert. Azazel could not put Dean back into his proper place without a Reaper's aid, aid which would not be willingly given. It meant that both myself and my dear Tessa were targets all of the sudden. A flutter to my left brought my gaze to the Reaper standing at my side. He was an interesting fellow, Demetri; a personal guard that Death had assigned me when I had begun Reaping on my own. He had no other purpose. Demetri did not Reap souls, he did not answer anyone's orders but Death's, not even my own. He went unseen except for when he came to my defense, even from the sight of other Reapers. Truly, I wasn't sure that the man was even entirely a Reaper. Certainly, he had the same abilities, the same _feel_ to him, but also something inherently...more. As if Death had instilled in him something extra just for his special purpose. There was a strangeness to him, from the empty skull-socket eyes staring out of an otherwise wickedly handsome face to the cloak he wore that appeared to always be defying gravity, as if it were underwater rather than standing in the midst of a hospital room. He was unlike any Reaper I had ever seen, but I was rather fond of his little quirks and isms. Like having an imaginary friend that was more than willing to rip a person's soul out in your defense.

 

“Master, the demon. It approaches.” His voice sounded like wind through dried leaves, still clinging for last hope to the dead boughs of trees. A scratching, almost echoing voice. It was enchanting in a strange way.

 

“Thank you, Demetri.”

 

“You are most welcome, Master.”

 

True to form, the vent on the nearby wall began to smoke as Azazel's gaseous form began to seep through into the room. I couldn't keep the expression of dislike from my expression even if I had tried. No one hurt my people. The Reapers were the children of Death and I and I watched over them with a parental fervor. Sure, they were all older than me and Tessa was more like a mother or older, protective sister but in the same breath, Death had created them. He was their father and I was his beloved, his Master. The Reapers were his and so they were mine as well, by love and the marriage of magic. I would let no blasted demon get their claws on a single one! The smoky mass shot towards a frightened Tessa and Dean only for me to snatch the hateful thing right out of the air. I grinned nastily, giving Azazel a little cruel shake for his troubles. My companions stood pale at my side.

 

“Oh no you don't, you pathetic excuse for moral pollution. _No one_ touches my own, Azazel. No. One. Now, float away from me, wanker. I'll put the upright monkey back where he goes without your dubious assistance. Bugger off.” I hissed, letting him hear the anger in my voice, feel the rage at his almost-violation of my mother figure. Nothing felt more invasive, more violating than a forced possession. It was an offense to the natural order, a rape of the very soul. I gave him one more violent shake to send the message home before releasing him. The demon rushed out of the room faster than one could say 'Morphing Time'.

 

Visible to the two at my side, I sighed, feeling suddenly tired and cranky. I didn't hate demons. I just hated _that_ demon. Presumptuous little tit, that one. Far be it from me to do him any sort of favors but John Winchester was destined to go to Hell tonight, one way or another, and I was more than willing to get them there without Tessa having to be spiritually violated, if at all possible. All I wanted was to go home and curl up on the couch with Death, maybe even get a little extra curricular loving in. The thought only renewed my impatience to get home.

 

“Alright, Winchester. Let's put you back where you belong.”

 

 

A/N: Ugh. Sorry this took so long, guys and gals. I really hate this chapter. I've been eyeballs deep in a story by [Mizuni-sama](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1355498/Mizuni-sama) called Prince of a Dark Kingdom. It is AMAAAAAAZZIIINNNNGGG but so very very long lol. Not that I'm complaining though! ;) Check it out for sure if your looking for something to read in your downtime.  


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Woooo! It's finally done! Good grief. Took forever.

 

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to _**Pcheshire**_ for the awesome reviews. :)

 

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

 

Chapter Seven.... **“** **You'll stay with me?” 'Until the very end,' said James.”** **―**[ **J.K. Rowling**](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1077326.J_K_Rowling) **,** _ **Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows**_

 

“ _Harry?”_

 

_I heard him approach my little hiding space slowly and buried my heads in my crossed arms miserably. How could this get any more embarrassing? Any more humiliating? It was unbearable. It was ridiculous. He would probably send me back to the Potters just from shame at my weakness. I stuffed my fist in my mouth to try to muffle the sounds of my tear-born hiccups, but nonetheless, the doors to the little cabinet that had become my sanctuary clicked open. I was met with the curious, endless darkness of Death's gaze._

 

“ _Master, what are you doing in there?” His kind, calm voice both soothes and unnerved me. Could this be any more embarrassing? I could stand against the Potters, could rail against the injustice of my lot, but one nightmare could have my undone in moments. I was suppose to be stronger than this. I wanted to be stronger than this. But I didn't know how. It took me a whole three minutes before I was able to articulate what my dream had been about._

 

“ _I had a nightmare...”_

 

“ _Oh?” His question held a lilting tone on the edge of that simple word that seemed to hold a magic all on its own. I felt just the smallest bit lighter at the sound. It was as if he could cast a Feather-Weight charm on my spirit. My burden didn't feel so large while he was at my side. Death settled onto the floor next to my hiding space and the sight was so odd that it made the corners of my mouth twitch in what could have become a smile if I weren't feeling so miserable, “What about?”_

 

_The almost smile evaporated with the memory of my terror._

 

“ _You-...I was back in that place. The dark attic where we met except I was alone...You were gone.”_

 

_'And you weren't coming back' went unsaid thought it resounded in the accompanying silent nonetheless. Death sighed with a resigned, self-deprecation that I was unable to even begin to understand. He reached into the cabinet to draw me out from its relative safety and into his lap, wrapping secure arms around my still trembling form._

 

“ _Oh, Harry. You are so strong and so fragile all at once. I keep forgetting you are still just a child.” I snorted derisively, glaring at the floor. A child in years only, I think. He seemed to read my mind because I was leveled with a telling look, “You're ten years old, don't give me that.”_

 

“ _I should be able to handle this, to hold this silliness back. I shouldn't be broken down by something as stupid as a dream.”_

 

_The Horseman hummed, rocking me a little as he ran his fingers through my hair soothingly. I wasn't the least bit embarrassed to admit that his efforts worked marvelously._

 

“ _Hiding ones feelings doesn't make you stronger, Harry. It just makes you sadder. Now come. Let's dry those tears and I will make us both some hot chocolate. No one knows how to make hot cocoa like the Spanish, you know. I'll have to take you to visit the 1500's one day soon. Marvelous time period.”_

 

“ _Really? You can do that?”_

 

_Death gave me an amused smirk that had me smiling right back somehow._

 

“ _Dear Master. I'm_ Death _. What is a little time stream to ones such as us?”_

 

 

I opened my eyes from the memory, smiling a little at the remembrance. I still occasionally had that same nightmare but, thanks to by beloved's tender affections and care, they no longer had the same sting as they had when I was a child. Death was conspicuously absent but that wasn't unusual. He was busy with some bombing in Budapest and planning for Halloween coming up. Halloween was always a nightmare. People did the stupidest things when a little bit of spookiness and alcohol were thrown recklessly together. Tessa, I found, was standing over me in his absence, however.

 

“Rise and shine, Harry. The You-Know-Who's just hit the radar.”

 

Bleeding Winchesters.

 

~ _ **“**_ _ **Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" Harry interrupted again.**_ _ **  
**_ _ **"So he can sneak up on people," said Ron. "Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking...”**_

 

**Dean's POV**

 

We were being followed. Or maybe we were cursed, who knew? All I knew for sure was that I kept seeing this same kid over and over again. Not just randomly, either. He only showed up when there was blood on the ground. Sometimes I would catch a glimpse of him in a restaurant window or standing in a crowd of onlookers. Once even at a bar where I was certain he wasn't even old enough to be in. Each time, he always had the same manilla folder clutched under one arm and every time I laid eyes on him, there was this sense of familiarity that I couldn't place. The kid creeped me out and I still wasn't one hundred percent sure that he wasn't involved in those deaths somehow. I mean, America is a pretty big place. No way that he just _happened_ to show up repeatedly, so what was his deal? I'd started compiling a list of facts and ideas, stuffed away inside dad's journal. So far I had seen him when we faced off with the Trickster in Ohio, during that Croatoan outbreak in Oregon and I'd caught sight of him twice when we put down that zombie Greenville, Illinois: in the college where the professor taught, standing in the corridor down from the man's office and again sitting on the porch across the street from the now deceased Neil's house when we went to interrogate the putz. And now...now that the Roadhouse was burned down, Ash was dead and Ellen nowhere to be found, here he was again. He never approached or even spoke, just showed up and watched with these huge, green eyes, greener than I had ever seen on anything human, at least.

 

The options for what he could be were daunting. Demon, Trickster, Witch? The yes were wrong for Djinn. There weren't any body parts unaccounted for in the cases where he had been spotted which ruled out Rugaru, Weres, and Skinwalkers. Lamia are chicks so that's a no go. Vetala maybe? But no other familiar faces had been spotted and Vetala hunt in pairs. Perhaps I was making this harder than it had to be. The kid could be a spy or a thief, like Talbot, sent to track us. Annoying but human. Right and I was a Harpy. Our luck was never that good. But if the kid was a monster, why follow us around?

 

I guess there was only one way to find out.

.

.

~ _ **"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”**_

_._

_._

I really don't know what it was that caught my attention about those infuriating Winchesters. Perhaps it was because Death found them so troublesome. Maybe it was the attention both the Angels and Demons gave them. But whatever it was, I began following their exploits. Unfortunately, it seemed my curiosity got me into more trouble than it was worth. In a stunning moment of deja vu, I found myself spun around from behind and lifted by my collar. My gaze met with two matching gazes. They were guarded, angry and the potential for real violence was lurking just behind hazel depths, waiting for the moment it would be unleashed. Oh dear.

 

“Dean Winchester. We really must stop meeting this way. This is the second suit you've ruined, you know.” I did my best to keep my voice bland and dry like Death always could but I simply wasn't as good at it as my lover was. I didn't have the millennium of practice after all. He shook me, knocking my head against the brick wall at my back with as much ease as if he had been shaking a rather surly kitten.

 

“I'm going to ruin a lot more than that if you don't fess up, pretty boy! Who are you and why are you following us?!”

 

I could already see Tessa waiting in the wings nervously, glaring a hole in the back of Dean's head for manhandling me. A sigh forced its way out of me and the Winchester brothers appeared somewhat taken aback by the snarky eye roll I leveled them with. I slid my hand over the ones holding me upright, finally having enough of the unnecessary, rough treatment.

 

“ _Sting. Invisible barbs biting into flesh. Prick and burn.”_ My words came out in a hiss of irritation and as the words folded off of my tongue, my magic leapt at the command, jumping to action like an excited puppy. Unfortunately for Dean, he was the one the curse was aimed at.

 

He released me with a shriek, waving his hands in the air as if he had been bitten. At once I found a gun and two glares piercing me with the accuracy of knives. I held out my hand, magic tingling over my fingertips lovingly.

 

“ _Come.”_ Sam's gun was suddenly in my hand, “Tessa, dear, please give Dean what he's missing so we can get this show on the road.” The Reaper was there behind him in an instant. She had the grace to give the Hunter a sheepish smile before her lips touched his. I could almost see the moment that the man's memories of that night were returned to him. The night we first met. The night his father's soul was sent to Hell.

 

“Witch. You're a freaking witch! Just like Legrange!” The disarmed brother was quick to voice his observations, much to my disgust. A witch? Really? How insulting. Last time I checked, I was decidedly male. Death could attest to that fact, “You know she's going to kill you once you lose control, right? Reapers always do.”

 

It was so cute how he thought he knew everything. Dean shook his head as if to clear his min dof the new memories, to reintegrate them. He looked to me with a frown.

 

“Not a witch...a Reaper. A Reaper's Master.” The ruffian whispered, looking me over with even more confusion than before.

 

A roguish smirk was the only answer he received. Sam, however, was not as quick on the uptake. Funny, since it was usually Dean who was the dim one.

 

“Death? This kid is Death?”

 

Tessa grinned a little, quick to hide it behind her hand. I glowered at her obvious amusement but turned to the duo, crossing my arms with a bit of petulance.

 

“No, Jolly-Green, I'm the one _married_ to Death.”

 

Not technically incorrect. We were married, magically and spiritually speaking. Besides, 'married to' sounded so much better than 'sleeping with'. Judging by the looks of incredulity on their collective faces, the gruesome two-some didn't seem to agree.

 

A/N: I didn't think I was ever going to finish this chapter. Sigh. >___>


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I know my updates aren't as smooth or frequent as they were at the start, ladies and gents, and I'm sorry for that. I've been in a reading mode like nobody's business so the will to write just hasn't been there. Ideas, certainly, but no will. Lol, in any case, enjoy!

 

Disclaimer: Nada.

 

**Chapter Eight...** _**“** _ _**We each die countless little deaths on our way to the last. We die out of shame as humiliation. We perish from despair. And, of course, we die for love.”** _ _**―** _ [ _**Clive Barker** _ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10366.Clive_Barker) _**,** _ [ _**Absolute Midnight** _ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/2758234)

 

**Death**

 

One pale Sunday afternoon, Death found himself sitting on a park bench. His little love was out on a Reaping, one Albus Dumbledore, and so, rather than sitting in the office and doing paperwork, the Horseman decided that he was feeling magnanimous. He was entertaining the Winchesters with his presence, sucking down a cheery cherry Icee in Idaho while the twosome leveled him with questions. Both blockheads were reasonably cowed and uncertain in his presence. Good. It wouldn't do for the little fleas to be getting any ideas above their stations. Unfortunately, being forced to listen to Winchesters speak always brought down the mood of the day, no matter the situation.

 

"What exactly _is_ Harry? The Reapers call him Master but then you say he's human. What is he really?"

 

The primordial being heaved a put-upon sigh. Of course they would want to talk about Harry. 'Careful, boys' He though inwardly, 'Wouldn't want to make me jealous, would you?' The internal musing brought a smirk to his thin face that made the duo take a concerned step backwards.

 

"Harry is...something beyond your simple understanding. You've heard the phrase 'old soul' yes?" They nodded to the affirmative, "Harry's soul is _ancient_. Not as old as my own but then again, he was created for me. Harry is as mortal as you or any other human, Sam, but because his soul is tied to mine and I obviously cannot reap myself, for each death he dies, his soul wanders until it is reborn and I must find him once again. It is not a true death. There are very few things that constitute a true death for one such as him. Only something that can kill me would bring such an event about for him but that leaves us with a conundrum. You see, once Harry dies a true death, then we will never have to be parted again. Yet, I just can't bring myself to kill the one who means so much to me."

 

"So he just travels around bodiless until he, what?, is reborn and you go and pick him up like some metaphysical carpool?" The snarky Hunter asked with incredulity coloring his tone. Was that really so hard to believe?

 

"Shut up, Dean. For now, I must settle for tracking down his spirit each time and that is not as simple a task as it may sound. He may wander wherever I may: from universe to universe, time to time, even into the spaces between worlds."

 

"Sounds like one hell of a weekend."

 

"You've no idea."

.

.

~ _ **“**_ _ **I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.”**_ _ **―**_[ _ **Mark Twain**_](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1244.Mark_Twain)

.

.

**Harry**

 

Running into the Winchesters became a sort of game. They would come up with ridiculous ways to try and entrap me, try and get some sort of information out of me. I would pissed off Dean. Quips would be traded. It was practically tradition every time someone around them died. Everything went on as per the usual. In fact, Death was taking the night off and I was _loving it_. Or rather, loving him.

 

He lay back on our bed, hair, that was typically so styled and as unflappable as its owner, spread out in disarray beneath him. His tie was unwound and shirt unbuttoned. Black pants were hanging low on his hips, creeping ever closer each time I wiggled on top of him. The state of the clothing only accentuated the tenting in his once finely pressed trousers. I straddled my lover with a devilish grin, my own clothes in a rather impressive state of disorder. He released a strangled groan as I ground down on his lap, slowly and teasingly but with just the right amount of friction to make him hiss in delight.

 

“ _Minx._ ”

 

My smirk only widened.

 

“I know.” Let no one say I hadn't grown into my own since I was ten. I leaned down to give the Horseman a soul sizzling kiss when the door opened. Tessa lingered at the doorway somehow managing to look both exasperated and thoroughly embarrassed to have caught the boy she helped raise in such a state, let alone the fact that her Master was in an obscene state of aroused undress. I shot her a pouting glare, feeling suddenly jilted at having my fun interrupted.

 

“My utmost apologies Masters, but the Scythe has resurfaced in the possession of the Demon Alistair. He seems to be planning on using it to hunt two of our kind to assist in releasing the Angel Lucifer from his cage. I thought you may want to know right away.”

 

Wait a minute! My whole body stiffened and my eyes on her narrowed dangerously, turning to face my lover darkly. Death sighed, his head falling back onto the bed with resignation.

 

“You mean _My_ Scythe? What is _my_ Scythe doing in a Demon's hands, Death?”

 

“I may have lost it in a card game, Master.”

 

Tessa visibly winced in sympathy.

 

“A card game. You mean to tell me that you lost my birth right, _your bonding gift to me_ , in a card game with a parasitic soul leech?”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

Anger burned like an inferno within me and I slid off of the man furiously. With a whispered command my clothes were back on and I looked as immaculate as ever. I glanced back at the Horseman on our bed, still laying in his aroused, mussed state and gave him a suitable glare. Death looked successfully scolded.

 

“Then I'll just have to go and get it back, won't I?”

 

“Yes, Master. I'll just...take a shower then.” A long cold shower.

 

“You do that.” I snarked before slamming the door behind me, Tessa leading the way. He had really done it this time. How does an omniscient being lose at cards anyways?!

 

Death sighed heavily after I had left.

 

“Demetri.” The strange, guardian Reaper wavered into view, bowing at the waist, his customary unnaturally large grin slicing across his face.

 

“Master.”

 

“It is time.”

 

The impossibly large grin widened, shadows within empty skull's eyes writhing in excitement.

 

“Yes, Master.”

.

.

_~_ _**“** _ _**Does it hurt?" The childish question had escaped Harry's lips before he could stop it.** _ _**  
** _ _**"Dying? Not at all," said Sirius. "Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”** _ _**―** _ [ _**J.K. Rowling** _ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1077326.J_K_Rowling) _**,** _ _**Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows** _

.

.

There she was. My Tessa and my Yacob lying unconscious in the center of a circle. Their captor was in the next room, unaware that he had company. He would foolish if he weren't expecting me though. Tessa and I had been separated when he had captured her. The sight of them on the floor brought new rage welling up inside of me. These were my family. Mine and Death's _children._ How dare this filthy demon treat them in such a way!

 

“Master. Winchesters approach.” Demetri whispered, unseen from my side.

 

Of course they bloody well were. Those two were always involved. If any trouble were ever occurring, sure enough, those two were bound to be close behind. I didn't have time to dance around those two monkeys today. Quickly, I set to work on the circle. It wasn't easy. The same magic that kept my two Reapers inside seemed to repel the same magic I would use to break it. Hm. Maybe if I rotted the floor beneath it? Made it crumble and cave? It was worth a shot though it would take a moment or two longer. Focusing, I flexed the power that flowed through the bond between Death and I, remembering with a glare just how in the doghouse he was right. I coaxed and directed the death magic into the wooden floor beneath, focused on the task at hand. Cells began to implode. Fibers began to wither. Splinters curled and shriveled and at last, the boards themselves began to blacken. The floor at the edge of the circle started caving and crumbling. At last they were free. Tessa began to groan and stir, giving Yacob a shake to wake him as she lifted herself to her knees. The relief was bubbling up inside me, so overwhelming that when Tessa's face collapsed into horror, I was confused. At least until I felt the cool bite of curved metal against my throat.

 

“Well, well, well, isn't this just adorable. Little family reunion right here. Well, I suppose that three Reapers are just as good as two.” The sickening sound of one of Hell's most prolific torturers oozed from behind me. Alistair. Well bugger, “Oh, but you're not just a Reaper are you? No...you've got something special about you. At least, _you did_.”

 

Tessa screamed. I heard Sam and Dean suddenly there, running towards us. Yacob caught me as I slid from that rat bastard's grip and through it all, I could see Demetri. He had revealed himself standing in the corner and for the first time since meeting the strange Reaper, his unnaturally wide smile was absent. Yet of all of the rooms occupants, he seemed the least disturbed by the events taking place. Demetri did not react at all.

 

The Death Scythe was jutting out of my abdomen.

 

Blood was spilling forth, staining the ground and Yacob's sable suit. All I could hear was noise, but I couldn't make any of it make sense. Shouting. There was so much shouting. But all I could feel was the pain, the feel of my own Scythe scraping against my spine with each movement. All I could see was Tessa's terrified face disappear as darkness crept over my vision. I felt myself slip away and the only thought in my head was confusion over how the Master of Death could die at all and fear. The fear that my nightmare was going to come true and I would be once more alone. Without Death by my side. Even if I went to Heaven, without him, what was Heaven but just one more hell?


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Wow, I know, don't kill me! It had to be done! I hate cliffies as much as all of you but, given my recent mood towards writing, I had to give myself some momentum!

 

**I know you guys are going to love this so this chapter is actually from Death's POV. Giving him a bit of love this time! Especially after the state I left him in in the last chapter! XD**

 

Disclaimer: Nope.

 

Chapter Nine... _ **“**_ _ **When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes—when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever—there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.”**_ _ **  
**_ _ **―**_[ _ **John Irving**_](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3075.John_Irving) _ **,**_[ _ **A Prayer for Owen Meany**_](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1734019)

.

.

**Death**

 

I knew the moment it happened. I felt him trickle away, his absence a gaping wound on my immortal soul. Once again, he had wrung out my heart. Once again, he had left me behind. I told myself I wouldn't do this. I told myself that I wouldn't grieve. How silly I'd been. What a human desire,  _ to not grieve _ . The sheets smelled like him. Like a swirling rainstorm, like sweetness and the slight ozone of magic dancing around on the soft material. I clung to those sheets, pressed them to my face and inhaled his scent knowing that this death of his would be the last.

 

I grieved my love with bittersweet tears as I felt the life leave him.

 

Like a broken child, I wept.

.

.

~ _**“** _ _**His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say "I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come."―** _ _**Markus Zusak** _ _**,** _ _ **The Book Thief** _

_._

_._

**Death**

 

_It warmed something deep inside my soul, or at least whatever I had that passed for one, to know that when my Master was frightened now, he did not go to hide in the cabinet anymore. He had come to trust and love me enough, even at his fledgling age, that when he was overcome with fear, he ran to my room to hide. He trusted me to protect him, to help him now instead of believing that the only one he could rely on was himself. Slowly, I was undoing the damage the Potters had done over the years. There he was, trembling beneath the covers on my bed, hugging my pillow to his chest. Raising a child was a daily adventure, let alone rearing up one as...unique as Harry. Not many could say that they raised their lovers and fewer would ever face the kind of struggles we did. I took a seat beside the eleven year old on the bed and simply placed a hand on where his head lay hidden beneath the blankets._

 

“ _Harry? Nathaniel said something happened today. Will you come out?”_

 

_A cringing head shake to the negative. Sigh._

 

“ _I'm not mad, Harry. You've done nothing wrong, you know.”_

 

_He mumbled something unintelligible that even I couldn't make out. It didn't seem that my little love was willing to come out of his cocoon anytime soon. Well, if you couldn't beat them...I took a moment to untie my shoes before burrowing under the covers and joining him in the tiny space he had made there. There was a tenderness in his emerald eyes there but also fear and as I got closer, he pulled his hands against his chest as if I would bite him. Strange._

 

“ _Now tell me what happened.”_

 

_He didn't want to. The reluctance was written in ever line and tense angle of his body. My expression remained impassive, expecting, though and ever so slowly, he relinquished the events of the day._

 

“ _I...accidentally killed someone today.”_

 

“ _Oh?”_

 

“ _Three someones.” My eyebrows arched upwards in surprise. His expression jumped from anxious to alarmed in half a second, “I didn't mean to! It just-...It just happened! I didn't-! I couldn't help it! I just touched them! That was it! Just...just a touch and they fell...” His frantic voice trailed off into horrified tears and Harry buried his face in my pillow once more, careful to keep his hands from touching me. Did he fear that he would kill me too? The thought brought a loving smile to my heart. Silly child._

 

_We had gotten to the heart of it, it seemed. It was really no surprise. As Harry grew, as our bond grew, more of my own power would begin leaking over to him through that bond, where it belonged. He was developing the skills of a Reaper slowly but surely. The powers over life and death. As a human, it was frightening to suddenly be able to kill with a touch. He was too young to be able to control it, too inexperienced. Harry was terrified of what he could suddenly do to another person, on accident no less. In his young mind, he had just murdered three people. He probably thought that he was a monster. I wound one arm beneath him, scooping the small body up and pulling the child into a hug. Harry kept the pillow between us, still terrified to touch another person and sever their souls from their bodies._

 

“ _Whatever silly thing you're thinking about yourself, Master, I advise you stop. This is not some horrible thing, it simply means that our bond is growing. As my Master, it is natural that you would take on some of my powers.”_

 

_His face fell into incredulity though the suspicious fear lingered, “Your powers?”_

 

“ _Reapers reap by severing the connection a soul has with its body when it is that person's time to go. Without the Reaper's touch, the person continues to live and we both know that can't be allowed, can it?” I received a slow, unsure shake of the head in response, “What you are experiencing is the power of a Reaper finding a home inside you. You're just too inexperienced to control it at the moment, but you'll learn. I'll teach you.”_

 

“ _Promise?”_

 

“ _On my word, Master. And in the meantime...” Still wearing my scarf and leather gloves from my trip to Alaska to Reap a logger there, I tugged the gloves off with a dramatic flourish that made the boy smile a little. I gave him a grin of my own and slid the gloves onto his own hands. Harry had a wide eyed look of wonder in his eyes that morphed into affection when his lovely green eyes flicked up from our hands, mine bare and his own now safely ensconced in patented leather, to meet my own gaze in return, “These will help until we can practice more, yes?”_

 

“ _Thank you...”_

 

_I hummed, leaning forward to give him a tender kiss on the skin of his forehead._

 

“ _I would do anything for you, Harry. Anything.”_

_._

_._

_ ~ _ _**“** _ _**Fear not death for the sooner we die, the longer we shall be immortal.”** _ _**―** _ [ _**Benjamin Franklin** _ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/289513.Benjamin_Franklin)

_._

_._

**Death**

 

When at last Harry had drawn his last breath, I appeared at last in that blasted funeral home. I couldn't do it before, couldn't bring myself to see the light leave his eyes. I didn't want to see him look up at me and wonder why I did nothing. Yet...seeing his body on the floor, cradled in Tessa and Yacob's terrified arms hurt me deeply and fiercely. The blood of my soul mate coated the floor and for the first time since Harry's last death, a rather gruesome, violent poisoning that he thankfully didn't remember at the moment, I found the sight of blood _distasteful_. And _there_. Within the time it took to blink, I wrapped an enraged hand around the Demon Alistair's throat and slammed the foul creature against the far wall furiously. Alistair looked properly pale and shaken when my eyes darkened and the shadow spread beneath my skin to show the skull sockets within. He realized immediately who he was dealing with and just how properly buggered he was.

 

“ _Filth_! I will grant you this single boon since you've managed to do something I was unwilling to do myself. You will live, Demon. There is use for you in the grand scheme still, but when your time does come, _I will be dragging you to extinction myself_.” I hissed, allowing him to see the extent of my rage over what he had done to my Master before shoving him away as if he were something slimy that had just vomited on my shoes. I didn't even attempt to fight the urge to wipe my hand off on my slacks. What a filthy creature. He would be suffering before I relinquished his soul to nothingness, he could count on it. Alistair rushed out of the room, shooting the spirit-bound Winchester's a grimace as he ran. Bleeding Hunters. Of course they would be here. It was a momentous occasion, after all. The Last Death of the Master of Death. The reminder pulled every ounce of anger from my spirit, leeching it out as if the grief was a vacuum for all else. My arms felt suddenly heavy with the need to hold Harry's broken body safely within them, “Demetri.”

 

Harry's personal guard was at my side in an instant, looking exceptionally grim for someone who thought demise was amusing. Granted, Demetri thought existence was amusing, the constant strife and skulking about of the denizens of the realm and their feeble attempts at extending their own life, of robbing us of their souls. It really was a pathetic attempt. Humans would never understand what a gift their own demise could be.

 

“Master.”

 

“Go ahead and make preparations. Much has just changed.” The Reaper nodded and waivered seemingly out of existence before their eyes. Crossing the room, I knelt down next to the sobbing Tessa. A Reaper in mourning. It would have been amusing if the situation weren't so grave. My hand rose to touch her cheek, wiping away a tear tenderly, “Tessa, dear. Let me take him home now. I need you to put the Winchesters back where they belong. Can you do that?”

 

She appeared disorientated for a moment, almost confused, before her mind cleared of the horror and her dark head nodded lightly, “Yes, sir.”

 

She received a tiny smile for her strength. Good old Tessa. She was one of my dearest children. SO much like Harry in their loyalty and stubbornness. So loving. Yacob lay the body of our Master into my arms with the softness of handing over a newborn. He was directed to follow Demetri back to his fellows. At last, I was alone with the cooling corpse of my lover, his own bonding gift still jutting obscenely from his midsection. It was time to take him home.

 

 

A/N: Whoo, heavy chapter. This chapter had a bit more meat on its bones that what you guys are accustomed to, I think. We finally see the plot progressing forward.

 


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I know, I know. It's been awhile since I updated. I've been on a reading spree again and I'm not sorry lol. Rediscovering some of my old, timeless favorites. :) We've hit double digits at last!

 

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

 

Chapter Ten... _ **“**_ _ **These were the lovely bones that had grown around my absence: the connections-sometimes tenuous, sometimes made at great cost, but often magnificent-that happened after I was gone. And I began to see things in a way that let me hold the world without me in it. The events that my death wrought were merely the bones of a body that would become whole at some unpredictable time in the future. The price of what I came to see as this miraculous body had been my life.”**_ _ **―**_[ _ **Alice Sebold**_](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/316.Alice_Sebold) _ **,**_[ _ **The Lovely Bones**_](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1145090)

 

**Harry**

 

_King's Cross was smoky and still. Everything in sight was covered in a thick white fog. Dreamlike and opaque. The realization of where I had ended up sent a thrill of fearful confusion through my being. King's Cross? Bleeding King's Cross?! I had just been in America! Tessa...I had saved Tessa and Yacob._

 

_**Our family...** _

 

_I had saved them. So why was I here? Something else...Something else had happened. It crept up behind the lids of my unconscious mind, scratching to be let in. A sharp pain. There had been pain. Alistair. He had stabbed me! With my own bonding gift! My own scythe! What a prick! Had no one any decency anymore? Manky demons._

 

_So was this death? Shouldn't I have a Reaper? Surely the Master of Death should have a Reaper, right? What if I didn't? What if this was all it was and I was stuck here in this bloody train station forever? What a cruel afterlife. To be trapped in the place that I would never see for myself. The portal to Hogwarts, that joyous place that would never be my own. I wasn't magical enough for them. But on the other hand it made a sick sort of sense. King's Cross was an inbetween. It separated the Muggle and Magical worlds, kept them segregated while seeing off every magical generation to their glittering future. It was a portal in itself, really. As a human Master of Death, I was a bit of an inbetween thing myself. I was forever walking a precipice between Death and humanity. Perhaps being able to die was the most human thing in the world, though._

 

“ _It's an odd place you ended up, Harry.” The sweet voice came from behind me and I spun around to meet the familiar face, the surprise flickering over my face like a light bulb._

 

_The last time I had seen this girl, she had been laying in the arms of my mother, her blank eyes staring up at the sky in repose. Ginevra Weasley._

 

“ _So it's you then? You're my Reaper?” But how could that be? Was one of our Reapers just borrowing her face? Because Ginny Weasley sure as hell was not one of ours._

 

_Human souls didn't just become Reapers. They went to their final rewards when they died. Reapers were created by Death and I from the powers we shared. This was...most unusual. She gave me a soft, adoring smile but shook her head in amusement._

 

“ _I'm afraid not. I just wanted to see you. To help you make the transition, make things easier. I wanted to comfort you like you did for me.” She laughed at the confused tilt of the head that was her only response, “You're changing, Harry. You're not dead. Well, I guess technically you are, but it's not permanent. Think of it more like taking a deep cat nap. You're body and soul are changing to accommodate your new state of being.”_

 

“ _Oh.” The word fell from my lips blankly though it was clear to her that I still had no idea hat she was going on about. My new state of being? Was this reincarnation or something? Bleeding Harry Potter couldn't even die correctly. Wonderful._

 

_Ginevra just gave me that same kind smile from before. It reminded me of the way that Tessa looked at those she was going to Reap. Reassuring and sweet. Heartfelt. My stomach clenched in agony all of the sudden, grief cascading over me like a cold shower. Would I ever see her again? If I was reincarnated into something else, if I was changing into a “new state” or whatever, I wouldn't be the same Harry she had known. Would she recognize my soul? Would I even remember her when this was over? The thought of never seeing her again, that sweet woman who had raised me, tore at my insides like losing my mother never could have. Never see Tessa again...To never see Death again?_

 

 _What was life, what was death, without them? Without_ him _? I didn't want that. I would rather die again than have to live without them. Would I even know that they weren't in my life when I woke back up? Would I even be aware of their absence? Yes, I told myself, I would be aware that something was missing, something important no matter what._

 

“ _You helped me when I died, Harry. You were kind to me when I was broken. You held me and comforted me when I had to watch my mother grieve over my body. Your mother too.” Her words gave my frantic, morbid thoughts pause. I hadn't thought about Lily Potter in many years now. I had put her away with the broken fragments of my past, just a relic of a time that I would rather forget. I held no animosity for the Potters any longer. I hadn't in a long time, but they were nothing more than ghosts to me now and the dead had no business in the lives of the living. I had put them away like a person puts away a child's old toys once they outgrow them. To be taken out only for the memory and nostalgias sake and never too often “They never had that baby, you know. There never was another after you. After you disappeared and were declared dead, they realized at last what it was that they had lost and never could bring themselves to replace you. They still keep your room as it was. The dollhouse you loved is still there. James frequently passes his time in front of it, keeping it up and caring for it.”_

 

_I didn't need subtitles to explain what she was saying between the lines. It was as if he thought that by caring and loving for my cherished dollhouse, he was caring and loving for the son he had let down. Me. It was almost a shame really. That they had withheld their love for all of this time. I wondered if I was reincarnated, if somehow, I could ask to be reincarnated into a child for them. No one should withhold their love. Love unshared withers and ferments and rots and so corrupts the lover in turn. No matter what had happened in my youth, that wasn't a fate I wanted for them._

 

_The scenery around us began to shift and change tiny but by tiny bit. At first it was barely even noticeable. The fog thickening just so, the stones darkening little by little, and the shadows swelling like the tide. It was a dramatic alteration by the time I noticed, Ginevra successfully distracting me from our surroundings. Maybe this is what she meant by helping me? By acting as a distratcion so that I wouldn't fear the coming darkness?_

 

“ _What is this...?” The frightened gasp left my lips as a trembling thing, fluttering and uncertain in the wind. Her smile did not shift an inch._

 

“ _This is Destiny.” The blackness was creeping forward hungrily as if to devour me whole. The shade was all around and quickly, I realized that there was nowhere to run anymore. Destiny was as inescapable a thing as Time, “It's time, Harry. If we meet again, it will be on the other side.”_

 

_I was swallowed by the darkness, the breath of cold death on the back of my neck._

_._

_._

_~_ _**“** _ _**Your first kiss is destiny knocking.”** _ _**―** _ [ _**Alice Sebold** _ ](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/316.Alice_Sebold) _**,** _ [ _ **The Lovely Bones** _ ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1145090)

_._

_._

**Death**

 

The Reapers were all lined up outside of our home as I carried our Master's body inside. Every single one had turned out for the momentous occasion. He was limp in my arms, blood soaking my sleeves through from where it had pooled beneath him as he died. The Scythe had yet to be removed and wouldn't be until the right moment. It was perhaps a silly, sentimental thing but somehow, I knew that it would please him to see all of our ilk here later. There was no telling how long the process would take, though. It was best to just get him laid out and wait.

 

This would be his Wake.

 

The loss of our connection hurt me in ways that I couldn't even begin to explore. A cut so deep that, as I laid him out for viewing in our bed, my hands trembled. I sat in the raised armchair at his side as each Reaper came by one by one to lay a hand on his chest. To give him a little piece of each of them in order to swear fealty to their Master's Master. With each touch against Harry's chest, there was a faint, white glow that issued from the connection. Almost like a shadow of the illumination that issued from a soul. Each one seemed to be cautious of the Scythe, grimacing as they reached to touch him without jostling the foreign object. Tessa was the last Reaper to come and she lingered in the doorway, tears still swimming in her dark orbs. Harry's blood was still covering her, a few errant drops drying on the side of her face. She stepped out silently at last and I returned to observing my still, cold lover.

 

Exactly six hours after Harry had first fallen, I felt our connection snap back into place with a force that rocked me backwards in my silent vigil. The bond slammed back into my mind so violently that if I had been on my feet, I would surely have found myself on the floor in no time. A moment later, beloved eyes jerked open but their usual emerald sheen was absent. In it's place was the soul-gripping, endless darkness of my own power. A pale hand rose, shaking, to grip the handle of the blade embedded in his abdomen. It was pulled free with a sick sucking sound that dragged a wince out of even me. Before our eyes, the wound sealed itself and the transition, the change, was completed. Harry's humanity had been put away and in its place my own existence had filtered in to fill the space left behind. We would no longer be parted ever again. Harry was just as much a part of me as I was a part of him. We were one in two, a single being separated once but no longer. Black eyes looked over at me, a spark of recognition igniting within them as he recognized a piece of himself, as he recognized me as his eternal lover.

 

“ _Master_.” I pressed the thought into his mind, sending it flowing between the two of us like an unobstructed stream of crystal clear water.

 

“ _Death_.” His voice across the bond was feeble and weak, unused to using such a means of communication so easily after his resurrection. The loss of our bond no longer tore up my insides, the grief was no longer my companion. Harry had returned to me for the last time. He was never leaving my sight again. He reached out to me for reassurance like a newborn foal seeking out its mother, uncertain and frightened in his brand new, altered state. Our hands met and, as one, we shivered at the intensity. It would be some time before he was ready to go out Reaping again. He would need to acclimate to the new sensations and powers rushing through him but we would handle it together. We were together again and that was all that mattered. That and stopping two moronic hunters from destroying the earth, Heaven and Hell all in one fell swoop. Bloody Winchesters.


	11. Chapter 11

A/n: Oh my goodness! So sorry it's taken so long, ladies and gents! I discovered the Sherlock fandom! So I had to watch every episode and then, OF COURSE, I had to read fanfiction for it! Then I discovered podfics for the fandom and, Dear Heavens, it was over. Lol, I've done just about nothing but listen to and read Sherlock fanfiction since I finished Abyssum Abyssus Invocat! :P It's glorious but not terribly conducive to story updates, I'm afraid.

 

Disclaimer: Nope.

 

Chapter Eleven... _ **“**_ _ **I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”**_ _ **  
**_ _ **―**_ _ **Sylvia Plath**_ _ **,**_ _ **The Bell Jar**_

 

Everything I saw was in the process of dying on some level. From whole beings, to cells and molecules. Everything, from that glorious starburst moment of birth, a shining, tiny explosion of light, began to die. Dust motes, plants, creatures and humans. They were all beneath our jurisdiction. In this tiny fledgling world, in this universe to the next and the next and the next. The full scope of our reach was dizzying. Death pulled me into his arms to sooth my quivering nerves. It was more than my previous fragile, tragically human mind could conceptualize. He was me, I was him. We were one in the same. One eternal being in two forms. But...he was here with me. He would always be with me and now that I knew that without any shadow of a doubt, I knew that it was going to be alright. Come Heaven, come Hell, come the demise of this world, we were going to be together. Even unto the end of all things.

 

“You will adjust, Master. It is new and startling but soon this feeling of being overwhelmed will pass.”

 

And I knew that. I knew it because he knew it and the knowledge helped me to relax in the embrace of my soul's mate. My eyes slowly returned to their typical, startlingly green hue and if my pupils were even more black, more endless than humanly possible, then no one was going to point it out at the moment. I lifted one arm to slide around his neck only to realize that my other was still very much occupied.

 

“Murdered with my own bonding gift. Damn.” The Scythe was sticky with congealed blood in my hand and I sneered at the offending gore in distaste.

 

The knowledge that Alistair had a very _very_ nasty comeuppance heading his way was entirely too satisfying. I wanted to remind my love that this was still all his fault but it was a wasted effort to speak it out loud. I knew so he knew. Death knew the moment that the thought crossed my consciousness. We were of one soul, after all. One mind, one heart, one spirit. What must it have been like for all of these years to have his very being splintered and fractured? Had it been painful? Lonely? Had he felt despair at the separation? My throat closed up with grief at the thought of my beloved in pain and I clutched him to me tighter. I loved him so much. The idea of him hurting for so many millenia simply because I was apart from him was striking. I cleared my throat of the startling emotion, giving a pleased sigh when a loving hand came to rub soothing circles on my back.

 

“Is there anything that we can do about this hive-mind telepathy thing? Sex is going to feel an awful lot like masturbation at this rate.”

 

Death simply barked out a laugh of amused delight, his dark eyes shining with good humor. Considering that not ten minutes ago, I was laying dead and blood soaked on the bed at his side, I considered the laughter a good sign.

 

“You become one with an ancient primordial being and that's all you have to say? No worries, Master. We may keep our thoughts separate from one another, if we desire, with some shielding. Our emotions, however, will always be shared, no matter the case. They cannot be blocked off. The heart wants what the heart wants, as I know you are well aware.”

 

A spark of heat shimmered down the open bond and my mouth broke into a slow smirk. As always, I looked to my partner for comfort, both emotionally and physically.

 

“And what is it that my heart wants now?”

 

Death hummed pleasantly and reached down to slide the Scythe from my hand. The curve of metal hit the floor with a dull thunk, the sensation of it echoing through my chest. Merlin...how odd. I suppose it made sense that the weapon would be connected to us, though. Something that could kill Reapers would need to be, simply to keep up with it. It was a weapon forged of our essence. A blade created for the odious task of reaping beings far more powerful than the typical human.

 

“I believe that a shower is in order, don't you, my love?”

 

My grin was mirrored on his own face, pleasure already warming my blood. I allowed myself to be scooped up bridal style and carried towards the connected bathroom happily. The joy he felt at finally being connected fully and in truth thrummed through us both. We would never be parted again.

 

“I could think of nothing better.”

.

.

~ _**“True love makes the thought of death frequent, easy, without terrors; it merely becomes the standard of comparison, the price one would pay for many things.”-Stendal**_

.

.

We lay after a rather spectacular few hours of re-exploring each other, his fingers toying with the errant strands of hair haloing around my face. My hand lay splayed across his stomach beneath an unbuttoned shirt, occasionally tracing patterns around his navel. It delighted me to feel his skin tense and relax beneath the ministrations and each time he let out a soft chuff of amusement. Who would ever guess that Death was a little ticklish? No one but me. No one else had ever gotten so close. That place had always been mine and mine alone, even if I didn't know it.

 

“I don't...entirely understand what this is going to mean for us as...well, _us_ , and for us as individuals. What was even the point of us being separated to begin with? Why cause yourself so much pain if you didn't have to?” The question had puzzled me and yet, after learning to shield, I had been too nervous to seek the answer for myself within my beloved's mind.

 

Death's eyes nearly scalded me with the intensity within them but somehow he still managed to give me a warm smile.

 

“It is because you were so terribly fragile. And until this final death, you were so _human_. I wanted you to be able to experience your life as a human, with all of its freedoms, its tragedies and delights. I wanted you to be able to love and hurt, to thrive and fail, to experience the world you were born into before I stole you away from it forever. I felt as if I owed you at least that. You were born to be mine, Master. Always. But by allowing you to be human first, you were able to have experiences that I never would be able to. Now, because you owned those moments and we are now one, I can know those experiences too. I can see these worlds through your kind, unbiased, loving eyes. I can learn to love through your love. You better me, Master. Now and always.” His words were heartfelt and I could feel the sincerity in them radiating through our bond, an emotion that shot me to my core.

 

He had suffered for so long just so I could have a better life. So we could have a better life together later. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes and I shook my head to try and push them back. My conflict was obvious to him and Death merely smiled, kissing my forehead delicately.

 

“You're kind too, Death. You help people move on, see their loved ones again. You give them rest. _We_ give them rest. I love you. As you are and I always have. Because you are mine. Just as I am yours. I am nothing without you.”

 

My better half leaned his own forehead against the skin he had just so tenderly kissed and gazed into my eyes, into the mirror of his own soul. It was like staring into the abyss but knowing that the abyss was where you belonged.

.

.

~ _**“Death comes for us all in the end.” J.K. Rowling, Tales of Beedle the Bard**_

.

.

“Hello, Sam.”

 

The sickening familiar voice had him jerking around in place from where he stood. Sam's eyes were round as they looked on a figure he had thought long dead. Then again, he supposed that when one was boffing Death, the thing itself probably didn't seem as terrifying. Speaking of, the Horseman himself was sliding down gracefully into one of the plush armchairs sitting before the fire though the youngest Winchester paid him no mind. No, his eyes were only for the strange Master of Death standing before him, smiling gently.

 

“Harry...But you-. I watched you die. Are you my Reaper now? Is that what this is? I thought the Scythe could kill anything? We...we mourned you. Dean thought it was all his fault. I'm still not sure he doesn't still blame himself for your death.”

 

Harry's smile widened minutely and he walked over slowly, giving Sam time to observe the deceased Master. He looked good, really. Far better than he had even back then. If he had a word for it, Sam would probably say Harry almost glowed. Death had treated him well, certainly better than it had ever treated his family.

 

“My death was inevitable, Sam. Just as everything else must too eventually expire. Neither you nor Dean are responsible for it, only Alistair. It seems that now it is your turn as well.”

 

Sam's face was tense and tired. He looked almost sickly with the exhaustion weighing on his soul and Harry felt an alarming sympathy well up within him for this man he called 'friend'. Poor Samuel. Poor Dean too. Was there no end to the sacrifices these two would have to make? Would they ever know peace? The hunter's face seemed to be crumbling before his very eyes.

 

“I need to know one thing. If I go with you, can you promise me that this time it will be final? If I'm dead, I stay dead. No one can reverse it, no one can deal it away, no one else can get hurt because of me. Can you promise me that, Harry?” Sam's voice nearly quivered with the heavy weight of his words.

 

Stunning emeralds bore into his own weary eyes before Harry gave him a slow nod of assent and a lilliputian smile.

 

“I can promise you that. On my word.”

 

“No.” Three pairs of eyes swiveled to the interloper now standing across the room.

 

Harry's eyes narrowed, surging to an unforgiving, fathomless black at the sight of the Angel disguised as Dean Winchester. His love shared a meaningful look and he felt Death's mind rub against his own like a great cat, leaving behind the urge to _wait_. Wait and see, his beloved whispered through their bond. What else could he do but to bow to his soul's mate's wishes? The thought of defiance didn't even cross his mind, _their_ mind. It didn't mean he had to like this blatant, blasé manipulation of Sam's feelings though. Not in the slightest.

 

“I'm going, Dean. Why are you even here? I'm done fighting this!” Sam bit out, frustration mounting.

 

“You have to fight!” Not-Dean exclaimed desperately. His borrowed eyes turned to where Harry had crossed the fireplace and stood next to the Horseman, observing how the elder man seemed to almost lean into his Master's presence, “Please, it's not his time.”

 

Apparently the wrong thing to say. Harry's gaze slammed into him, almost rocking the Angel back on his heels with it's intensity. The voice that snapped out at him echoed throughout his consciousness, filling his grace with a dread chill.

 

“That is not up to _you_ to decide.” The Master of Death practically hissed. His eyes and tone became soft as his unwavering attentions turned to the youngest Winchester gently, “That is Sam's decision to make.”

 

It was only a moment more before the decision was made and white light filled the small space. The two were gone in the blink of an eye, leaving the two bonded behind. Death swung his cane around in a circle irritably, frustration boiling beneath his skin.

 

“Bloody Angels. I will take great pleasure in eradicating the whole species when the time comes.” Death groused, his mind occupied with the winged annoyances' constant interferences.

 

Harry gave him a disarming smile, sliding an arm around the man's waist beneath his suit jacket, effectively distracting his love from his own irritation.

 

“Come now, love. There will always be next time. Everything dies, remember? And in the meantime...I think I can invent some creative things to keep you entertained while we wait.” The Master added in slyly, enjoying the way his lover's eyes darkened with sudden and undeniable desire.

 

“Do lets.”


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Alright, folks. I know that this is a short chapter and it may seem a bit rushed. However, this is the last chapter of this story. Nonetheless, I hope all of you enjoy it! :)

 

_****MAJOR SEASON NINE ENDING SPOILERS!! You have been warned.**** _

 

Disclaimer: Nope.

 

Chapter Twelve... _ **“**_ _ **I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”**_ _ **―**_ _ **Pablo Neruda**_ _ **,**_ _ **100 Love Sonnets**_

 

 

We stood in the rubble of what was once Heaven's most feared cell block, a healthy look of disdain coating my features like an oily film.  
  
"I can't wait until that blight on Angel-kind takes a dirt nap. I have several 'something special's in mind for that pompous excuse for a writer." I hissed, my gaze turning pitying as it came to rest on the corpse of the Angel, Gadreel.  
  
"I would just as soon be done with the entire race by tea time." Death intoned with his ever present sense of calm snark.  
  
This was the Angel that had convinced Samuel to turn away from the afterlife that he so deserved and desired and return to life. This Angel had done so by pretending to be Dean. No, there was no pity for him in my love's eyes. But for me... Gadreel reminded me much of Castiel. In the end, he just wanted to do the right thing and I could not castigate him for that. I pitied him. Death gave me a sigh at the emotions roiling within me, not bothering to expound on them further. No, there was another who's death we were to oversee very soon. Their soul would not be ours to collect but nevertheless, important deaths like his should be witnessed. After all, what was change, what was transition, but just another kind if death? There was, however, time for a short coffee break. The thought clearly aroused my beloved's interest because his mind was already running through a series of potential snack choices.  
  
"That little spot in Vienna sound good, my one?"  
  
"That sounds marvelous. Tiramisu?"  
  
"Perfect."  
.

.  
~ _ **“**_ _ **The opposite of the happy ending is not actually the sad ending--the sad ending**_ _ _ **is**__ _ **sometimes the happy ending. The opposite of the happy ending is actually the**_ _ _ **unsatisfying**__ _ **ending.”**_ _ **―**_ _ **Orson Scott Card**_ _  
._

 _._  
At last that simpering, pathetic bird brain was dead. At last, he was _mine_. I gripped his grace crushingly in one hand, giving it a cruel shake as it cried out for mercy.  
  
"Oh no, mo mercy for you, Scribe. I have millennia of torment in store for you. You will settle in just beautifully next to that hellspawn, Alistair in our darkest corner of space and time. We'll see just how important you think yourself then, won't we? And just so you know exactly why you'll be screaming in agony for the entirety of your sorry afterlife, hear this. Everything that you will suffer from this day on isn't for the humans you've hurt. It isn't for the countless Angels you've seen slaughtered. It isn't even for the thrive damned Winchesters. Everything that you have coming to you is all for Tessa, you sorry son of a bastard! Oh, what's one Reaper to you, right? Wrong! That Reaper was as good as my mother and because of you-!" My voice was choked off in desperation and despair. I would never forget that day. Seeing her lying on the floor like that, like done broken doll that some careless child didn't bother to pick up. My grief had been great, was still great. Death laid a gentle, comforting hand on my shoulder, brushing his mind against my own. It did little good. He was mourning too. Tessa had been his child, after all. A child that he had loved and trusted enough to give her the opportunity to raise me, his precious Master. The image of a disheveled Tessa holding up a pair of patent leather shoes desperately flashed through my mind, as did the hurt quick on its heels. My sweet Tessa. My expression turned fierce and nasty on the Angel once more, "You have a lot of hurt coming to you, Metatron."  
  
Death nudged my attention back to Samuel and the quickly fading brother in his arms. Poor Sam... Once again, the Winchesters had nothing in store for then except heartbreak. What was it that the hunters always said?  
  
'It either ends bloody or sad.'  
  
Wasn't that the truth. But maybe... Maybe not this time. Perhaps this time, I could give the boys a little relief. The moment the ridiculous idea crossed our mind, I saw Death's eyes close slowly in despairing resignation.  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh, come now, love. Don't be so sour. I think he'll make a lovely addition to the fold."  
  
"Please, no, Master." Begging from the so stoic Horseman? How... Sexy.  
  
"We've been needing some new Reapers for a while now. So what do you say, my one? Shall we make some babies?" I asked, tossing him a saucy wink that only had the man sighing in both consternation and amusement.  
  
"Very well, Master."  
  
"Good, it's settled then."  
  
Indeed it was. The least reward that I could give the two boys was to keep them together. Sure, they may have opposing natures but hadn't they always?  
  
Samuel. Polite, more reserved, studious health conscious.  
  
Dean. Fierce, somewhat lazy, willing to dip his "pen" into just about any "inkwell" that looked his way and could eat enough to feed a buffalo.  
  
So different but they belonged together. Always. Samuel would make an excellent Reaper, I thought with a bright grin, giving the Angel one more vengeful shake for good measure.

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~ _ **“Well, I’m an abridger, so I’m entitled to a few ideas of my own. Did they make it? Was the pirate ship there? You can answer it for yourself, but, for me, I say yes it was. And yes, they got away. And got their strength back and had lots of adventures and more than their share of laughs.**_ _ **But that doesn’t mean I think they had a happy ending, either. Because, in my opinion, anyway, they squabbled a lot, and Buttercup lost her looks eventually, and one day Fezzik lost a fight and some hot-shot kid whipped Inigo with a sword and Westley was never able to really sleep sound because of Humperdinck maybe being on the trail.**_ _ **I’m not trying to make this a downer, understand. I mean, I really do think that love is the best thing in the world, next to cough drops. But I also have to say, for the umpty-umpth time, that life isn’t fair. It’s just fairer than death, that’s all.”―**_ _ **William Goldman**_ _ **,**_ _ **The Princess Bride**_

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_**_ _ **PLEASE READ!!!**_ Okay, so I understand that many of you have questions that remained unanswered in throughout the course of this fic and here are the answers you may be seeking.

 

Many of you have asked about the events of the Lucifer arc and the boys needing Death's ring, etc. The reason that I decided not to show those events in this fic is a rather simple one:

 

In the previous Death/Harry fic I wrote, I delved into those events quite thoroughly and when I decided to write this story, I wanted to write something that focused more on the relationship between Death and Harry rather than necessarily the Supernatural timeline itself. I wanted to write them as a couple more because in the last story, I didn't get to write as much of them together as I would have liked. This was always meant to be about the two of them together rather than following the Winchester boys themselves. Sorry for those of you who were hoping for more, and I hope my next fic doesn't let you down in the way that this one may have for some of you.

 

Thank you for your time and consideration!


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